


Bound by Destiny II, part 2

by justshyofgifted



Series: Oblivion Bound [5]
Category: Bloodbound (Visual Novels)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Blood and Violence, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dissociation, Drama, Dream Sequence, Established Relationship, Eventual Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Grief/Mourning, Hallucinations, Identity Issues, Multi, NSFW, Plot, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Romance, Slow Romance, Trauma, Vampires, established polyamory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:26:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 58,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27711334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justshyofgifted/pseuds/justshyofgifted
Summary: They fled New York with one purpose. Find, hunt down, and return with a way to kill a vampire god. They abandoned their loved ones and survived the City of Shadows; had their trust broken and darkest secrets brought to light. All that... and Gaiusstillwon anyway. But now that they have nothing to lose, Nadya and her friends are finally ready to do whatever it takes to see the King of Vampires overthrown.They just have to avoid a vampire population eager to gain favor with their new monarch, the ruthless Order of the Dawn, and whatever plans Gaius has that involve Nadya captured and brought to himalive.So... easy-peasy, right? The worlds of both dark and light hang in the balance. The time has come for the Bloodkeeper to embrace her destiny. So if anyone wants to clue her in on whatever that means,now would be great!Book 5 in theOblivion Boundseries; continuing from Book 4 with Nadya and the events ofBloodbound 2.In Progress.
Relationships: Kamilah Sayeed/Main Character (Bloodbound), Lily Spencer/Original Character(s), Nik Ryder/Main Character (Nightbound), Original Character(s)/Original Character(s), Serafine Dupont/Adrian Raines
Series: Oblivion Bound [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1439803
Comments: 15
Kudos: 32





	1. The Refuge

**Author's Note:**

> _Bound by Destiny II_ and the other _Oblivion Bound_ works are based on the _Bloodbound_ & _Nightbound_ visual novels created for the Play Choices app game.
> 
> While heavy inspiration and many plot points are taken from the original content, the _Oblivionverse_ works are canon divergent and will deviate from the plots taken in-game.
> 
>  **Note:** This work, like book 4, will include brief and minor references to implied past Gaius/Adrian and brief references to past Gaius/Kamilah. These implications/references do not go into any kind of detail, romantic or otherwise, and are vague in nature. They are there to help build the dramatic tension around the plot and nothing more. Thanks for understanding.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New York is lost. On the run from one of Gaius' oldest followers, Nadya and the others turn to some familiar faces as they try to figure out what to do next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warnings** : language, mentions of violence

_Alexandria, 45 B.C._  


She knows these winding halls as well as she knows the lines on the palms of her hands.

_So why is it so difficult, now, to navigate them in her hour of need?_

It is not a question she dare ask aloud. She knows the answer. It is the hunger. Insatiable, undeniable; starting from somewhere deep and carnal in her belly tapped into and, like the Nile, swelling until the banks of her are flooded beyond recognition.

Every servant she passes, every advisor, every armed soldier — they are no longer faces and names but wellsprings. Oases in the desert, where the water is dug deep beneath the sand.

But all it would take is one spade — one _fang_ — and…

Staggering, hands grasping rough stone until every groove is carved into her fingertips. She holds herself there, still as one of the statues lining the great hall, and wills herself to concentrate. 

Kamilah shakes her head until the feeling abates. Not for long. Never for long. Just long enough for her to reach her destination. Else her flight would have been all for naught.

Even in the deep hours of the night the palace is warm to the touch. She finds herself seeking it out, even from where she hides in the shadows.

_They cannot see her face. If they do… if they recognize her…_

They will not. Kamilah is ready to do whatever it takes to ensure her secrecy. Even if that means leaving a trail of bodies in her wake.

Even with the unmatched speed of the ancients that now runs through her veins it feels like ages have come and gone in the time it takes her to finally reach her destination.

The barracks are still in these hours. The war is far from here; this is something the General knows first hand. While Alexandria slumbers, Kamilah cannot. Her life was taken on the battlefield, and in the eyes of the gods. She will never truly rest again… not until she has finished wandering the earth as they see fit.

 _Foolish boy,_ she thinks with each silent step onward, and even with all the anguish in her heart she cannot fight a smile. Even returned from the battle he insists on sleeping among his brothers-in-arms. If he had just _listened to her_ and returned to the royal wing Kamilah would not need to go nearly as far.

 _Would you have listened, were our roles in reverse,_ her mind asks in his voice, laden with amusement. Kamilah does not answer — does not need to.

The torch beside his door is dark, but only recently so. Kamilah can feel the heat of it even from across the hall. Perhaps she is not too late…

She braces herself against the wall until bits of it cling to her fingertips as powder. _You can do this,_ Kamilah thinks; the same mantra that has carried her every step through the night, _and if you find that you cannot, remember that you must. He has taken your life, your breath, your soul. But he cannot take this from you, too._

Her touch barely brushes the handle of Lysimachus’ door before she is spirited away.

Her brother’s doorway is gone from her eyes. There one moment — the next replaced by one of the auxiliary gardens. The palm leaves sway in the midnight breeze. The stars above them stand still; they witness.

The Undying Centurion holds Kamilah tightly. His armor digging grooves into her back.

“No!” _Not like this—not without a fight._

Kamilah fights in death in a way she never did in life. She thrashes against the hold he has on her, heavy with the weight of ages she could never hope to match. He takes her, kicking legs and arms straining against him, without challenge or strain.

“Calm yourself,” he whispers the demand in her ear — tender as a lover but with an authority her blood cannot deny, “else you draw unwanted attentions.”

“The blame would lie with you!” spits Kamilah in reply. She isn’t yet used to the newfound sharpness that digs into her tongue. Her own blood trickles down her throat like a mockery.

“Let me go!”

He grips her tighter. “Not until this tempest has passed.”

 _It will never pass — never._ Not so long as Lysimachus is within her reach. Perhaps if she calls out to him —

“It would be unwise for you to raise alarm,” her Maker says, taking in the thoughts stricken dark across her face, “there is much work to be done here still. And I will not let the impulses of yet another willful progeny put all of my great work to risk.”

“I must see him. I must!”

“I warned you of the consequences.”

“You cannot understand!”

Over her shoulder his flippant words fuel the fire in her gut. “I do not care to. My word is your law, _my Queen,_ and you will learn to obey it.”

Still, Kamilah struggles on. And true to his word the creature Gaius holds her through every fit and toss and turn. Holds her tight enough that her bones grind together and the blood on her tongue beads in the sand at their feet. She struggles until she can no longer stand. Until her knees buckle and she falls forward.

He holds her through that, too.

Tears prick and sting at her eyes. Kamilah holds them back, though it takes everything in her will to do so, because she must. Because the thought of being sad is so much worse than being angry. Than hating the man keeping her from the one thing— _one person_ —she cannot bear to abandon.

Gaius is so much stronger than her.

If she is to survive in this world he seeks so ardently to create, she must be even stronger.

She goes still in his arms. Gaius is hesitant — rightly so — in easing his hold. He waits with the patience not of this world. Would wait longer still, if he had any inkling that the slightest give would send Kamilah rushing forth to defy him yet again.

Only when he’s certain he’s tamed her does he yield. His weight gone as suddenly as it had come and Kamilah falls again; catches herself this time — lets the grains of sand bite into her palms and keep her clear.

When she finally looks up Gaius is standing above her. Right where he thinks he belongs. He looks down at her expressionless, but the burning in his eyes says it all.

“You would defy me so openly — so soon?”

“He is my brother,” she answers tightly, “by blood and by stronger bonds still. We have shared a birth and a life in this world.”

Gaius raises an eyebrow. “And you would see it that you share in a death as well?”

“No.” _Never._

“Then explain yourself.”

“I cannot.”

“You will not deny me.”

“I do not seek to.” She tilts her head upwards to him; appeals to his ego with ease. “But words are beyond such a connection.” _I could not leave him to know nothing,_ she thinks but only to herself. How could a creature of battle such as the Undying Centurion understand the importance of blood that flows within the body, rather than from it?

When Gaius reaches one hand down to her cheek, Kamilah grits her teeth and waits for the press of a bruising grasp that never comes. Instead he cups her jaw, coaxes her up and to her feet with a touch so light she barely feels it at all.

The same touch that pulled her up from the depths of the sand and into this new life. One she was birthed into alone.

It was then that Kamilah realized how terribly lonely the rest of the world must feel each day. To come into the world without someone else to tether you to it.

Now she’s just like the rest of them.

“My Queen…” Gaius brushes a thumb over the high arc of her cheek. “You are no longer bound to these creatures. They are beneath you. You, who are no one’s blood but mine own. You may not see it yet… but in time you will.”

It is a threat as much as it is a promise. _You will,_ he promises, _because if you do not, you will lose that blood as quickly as it was given._

So it is the blood, then, that Kamilah must overcome.

Her nod, while silent, eases him back. Gaius is too used to getting his way to think her anything other than obedient; tamed. But she can make promises, too.

Kamilah promises — if only to herself — that he will never be stronger than her again.

* * *

_London, Present Day_

Together they’re like a relic from a different time. One where Nadya had been foolish enough to think her life couldn’t get any stranger than it already was.

She’s a little bitter for it, honestly.

“Get over here —” not that she has much of a choice as she’s yanked forward and into Greer’s crushing embrace, “— you cannot _believe_ how relieved we are, pet.”

Brandon stands off to the side and watches them; a bemused little smile at the corners of his lips. “Oh no you don’t,” Nadya chides, and manages to untangle herself just enough to reach out and get him in on the action, too.

Because they’re warm bodies and beating hearts and lungs heaving with the damp mid-morning fog that clings to London’s ankles and Nadya had no idea until this very moment how much she missed real living human contact. They can indulge her this.

Lucky for them the clouds are just thick enough to keep Adrian and Jax out of the direct sunlight. It’s hard to look casual holding an unconscious body but they’ve made do since France and they continue to make do now, even if there’s a flash of flowery curtain and a disapproving scowl that vanishes into the depths of the flat across the way.

Greer rolls his eyes and waves her off with a rude gesture. “Don’t mind her. She’s got her nose in everyone’s business ‘round here. Come on, bring her this way.”

While the Scot leads them off to the back of the modest apartment, Brandon helps Nadya with their scant belongings. “You’ve been roughing it, huh?” he asks, unable to hide his surprise when the two bags he grabs weigh practically nothing at all.

Nadya can’t help but snort. “That’s one way to put it.”

“What’s another?”

 _What indeed._ “I always wanted to backpack around Europe. Not like this, though. Not… not like this.” Her words trail off into silence. All the jokes she could make at her own expense, all the train rides and overnight stays in vibrant cities she could paint like postcards instead of what they really were — never staying in one place, never for too long, because they could never forget the chase.

Brandon watches her; concern barely hidden in the furrow of his brow. But he doesn’t voice it… Nadya appreciates that more than he’ll ever know.

“Well,” he sweeps his arm wide and gentlemanly over the threshold, “we’re glad you called.”

They set the bags off to the side and Brandon turns to face her fully. Eyes open and earnest. “Seems like all the news can say about New York these days is how quickly it’s gone to hell. Scary enough for the normal person — but there are always those little clues people like us look out for, you know? Greer was beside himself with worry.”

He’s always so genuine… makes Nadya’s heart a little heavier with even _more_ guilt.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve tried to call sooner.”

His head tilts slightly. “Why didn’t you, may I ask?”

 _Yeah, why didn’t you?_ And she really needs to find a psychic way to put a muzzle on that voice — next time she sees Serafine, she makes a note of it.

“I guess… I just didn’t want to get you guys wrapped up in everything. In this life, you know,” she shrugs, “again; after what happened before…”

“As if we’d ever leave it.” His laughter is sweet enough but it’s the words that leave a sour taste in Nadya’s mouth.

Is it bad that part of her had hoped they would find a way to somehow… push their way back into a normal life? One without vampires and Ferals and all the loss that inevitably followed?

_If only to know it was possible._

“Hey, c’mere.”

There’s an arm around her shoulders and this time Brandon is less of a third wheel in the whole hugging thing. His narrow chin digs into the top of her scalp but Nadya finds herself holding on tighter than she intended.

After a long moment he speaks; voice softer over her head. “We _like_ this life, Nadya. We like our friends, fangs or no. And we like being able to help however we can. For example… giving you guys a place to crash.”

“We won’t stay long.” _I won’t risk you like that._

“Whatever you need.”

“Well… we appreciate it. So, so much.”

He nods. “And when Lily wakes up we’ll see about getting in contact with some old donor friends.”

 _When Lily wakes up._ He says it like it’s such a sure thing. But is it?

Nadya tenses beneath him. Brandon can’t _not_ notice and coaxes her back to look him in the eyes.

“What, something I said?”

“N-No —” _—I just hadn’t thought about that, and about Lily’s condition, and the sudden urge to throw myself out of the closest window—_ “— it’s just… well there’s something you should know. About what happened to Lily.”

“About why she’s out harder than G’ after a Munich rave?”

“… You might wanna sit down.”

It’s a story Nadya only has to tell once — judging by the look on Greer’s freckled face when she follows a huffing Brandon back to where they’ve set Lily down to rest. The mortal men exchange similar looks. Like they don’t know what to think or say; or how to feel about it. Can they be blamed? Maybe if they’d discovered the strangeness of Nadya’s blood sooner… maybe they could have saved Brandon’s sister.

Maybe they could have saved a _lot_ more people. All the innocents who fell victim to Vega’s power play.

They seek one another out for comfort, hands squeezing together. Greer presses a chaste kiss to Brandon’s temple as the man lets out a ragged sigh.

“So she’s been like… _this…_ for how long?”

Time’s gotten away from all of them. Nadya actually has to pull up her fingers and count the days.

“About a month, I think,” she answers; but that doesn’t make it feel any more real. It would be easier if it did.

“Which is pretty much impossible, right?”

Adrian nods. “What you witnessed at the Awakening Ball was… well that’s about the time it usually takes for the taint to spread through the body. Turning into a vampire is a slow process because the soul stays anchored to the body through the change. That’s not the case when it comes to Ferals.”

“Until now.” Brandon catches the bitter discomfort in his words and hesitates before he says something he might regret. He rubs his free hand over his mouth; all the while looking Lily up and down, and up and down, like she’ll start to Turn before his very eyes.

She stays the same way she has been for the last month. _A month, jeez…_

Nearest the doorway and far back from everyone else, Nadya wraps her arms around her middle for some semblance of comfort.

“If we had known, Brandon…”

He cuts her off with a look. Not an _angry_ one; just hard to read.

“I know.” He says. But what is unsaid is just as plain.

_Let it go. Please. For me._

So they do. Greer grabs a bowl from the kitchen at Adrian’s request and Jax finds himself burdened with the hardship of filling the couple in on the rest of the bad news. About Maricruz and the fate of the Shadow Den, and all the things really going on that the mortal news doesn’t know about. Nadya doesn’t envy him — not even when Adrian draws a quick clean cut across her wrist and the metallic smell of her blood fills the air.

Adrian keeps a careful, precise eye on just how much she’s giving. But that doesn’t stop the glint of them from looking like he’s miles away — worlds even. He comes back to like it never even happened, pricks his thumb on a fang and wipes away her cut like it’s nothing. But it’s _not_ nothing. Rather than let her hand drop Nadya twists and locks their fingers together. Looks at him imploring and vulnerable.

He hesitates. Nadya swears she feels the slightest twitch where he thinks about pulling away… but he doesn’t.

“You know we can’t stay here for long.” Neither of them want to admit it, but that won’t make it any less true.

She nods.

“I know.” _They’re good people. They don’t deserve that._ “But I’m all out of miraculous saves. And I know you want to wait for Serafine and Cadence to pick up on our trail, but —”

“But that’s leaving too much up to chance.”

Together they look down at Lily between them. Nadya’s always fine — she even finds a little reassurance and hope in the fact that _yeah, it_ has _been a month,_ and Lily still looks like, well, Lily. But whenever she catches glimpse of the blackening blood in her veins where the Duchess bit her, without fail she starts to choke up. “She’ll be so angry she slept through pretty much all the action.”

Adrian only looks exasperated because he knows it’s true. “Not that I envy her, but there are a few things I wouldn’t have minded missing.”

Yeah, that’s for sure…

“If we’re really gonna do this — go on the run; be _real_ fugitives this time I mean — we have to do something about her.” She has to clear her throat several times to get it all out but Adrian’s patient. He rests a hand on her shoulder.

“What did you have in mind?” But there’s something he doesn’t say at the edge of his question that she doesn’t like. Not one bit.

“We’re not leaving her behind.” _Not after everything._

He nods. “Okay. But you can’t have it both ways.”

“I don’t plan to.”

“You _have_ a plan then?”

 _Of course I don’t have a plan._ “Of course I don’t have a plan.” Well honesty _is_ the best policy, so the saying goes. “I have an _idea…_ and admittedly it’s not one of my smarter ones.”

“Scale?”

She mulls it over. “On a scale of ‘my boss might be a killer but he’s really chill’ to ‘break into the Baron’s Cellar to rescue him?’ I think —”

“Back up there, Nadya,” he holds up a finger, “what was that first part?”

Oh yeah… that never came up, did it?

She ignores him (can get away with that for now… though Adrian has a _long_ memory and doesn’t she know it) and continues with an awkward little laugh. _“Anyway,_ I think it falls somewhere near ‘siding with a two thousand year old psychopath.’”

His eyebrow slowly hikes up to his hairline. “So… somewhere on the bad end.”

Yeah, something like that. Nadya switches her hand from his to Lily’s. Notices then the difference between them — both cold, both strong… but Lily almost _thrums_ beneath Nadya’s warmth. There’s life there — that’s all the proof she needs.

“Back down there—you know—in the…” he nods, thank god, “… yeah. My blood brought back the Duchess’ consciousness. But it wasn’t just her memories left inside the Manor that I tapped into. I went inside her head, Adrian. That’s how I pinned her down.”

Nadya exhales slowly. “I think I need to do the same thing with Lil’. I hoped I wouldn’t have to; I hoped she’d just wake up on her own. But she hasn’t. And if I know something works… I owe it to her to try.” _She’d do it for me. I’d still do it regardless._

The two people in this room, undead or maybe-Feral or not, are all she has left right now. There’s nowhere else for her love to go. Might as well put it to good use.

She waits on bated breath for Adrian to say something; anything. To go all postal in his disagreement or take her by the hands and say _“we’ll do it together.”_ They won’t be doing this together — she won’t put him at risk like that. There’s this sick, sinking feeling in Nadya’s stomach that she’s the only one who can do this and by all they know and the wider range of things they don’t it’s the only thing that makes sense.

Finally he sighs — soft habits still there that give her a comfort she didn’t know she needed. He places a reluctant hand over hers over Lily’s.

“Okay.”

 _That easy? No way._ “You’re just… agreeing?” And it makes Adrian _shrug_ of all things.

“I know better than to try to change your mind, or try to stop you. I’ve got the wounds to prove it. You know what you’re doing so… let’s do it. Tell me what I can do to help.”

 _Okay,_ he had said. So… they’re doing this.

“You and Jax can _both_ help by feeding. I’m… gonna need you guys as strong as you can be. Just in case.”

Hopefully it won’t come to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Bound by Destiny II_ and the other _Oblivion Bound_ works are based on the _Bloodbound_ & _Nightbound_ visual novels created for the Play Choices app game.
> 
> While heavy inspiration and many plot points are taken from the original content, the _Oblivionverse_ works are canon divergent and will deviate from the plots taken in-game.


	2. The Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nadya upends everything they know when she brings Lily back to the waking world. But is it really Lily, or is it something else?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warnings** : language, mentions of violence, hallucinations, dissociation

_The Shadow Den, January 2019_  


The hype wears off. Fast.

“Come on,” she pleads for what feels like the millionth time, “just, like, a quick visit. There and back again — except without the quest and the mountain and the dragon.”

Though at this point she’d be surprised if Maricruz’s answer did change. Just as Lily herself is relentless in trying to wrangle any inch of reasoning from the void to try and justify going back to her apartment, her girlfriend-turned-vampire-mentor is relentless in shooting down every. single. idea.

She waits… and waits… and waits for Maricruz to turn around and give her the full attention she desires (and deserves at this point) but the older vampire just leaves her hanging.

_Rude??_

“We’d be there less than an hour. Less than half an hour!”

“We’ll be there less than that,” Maricruz finally replies, and if Lily’s heart could skip a beat it would be singing _Ring Around the Rosie_ right now.

“Okay! Sure! Yeah however long, less than thirty that’s totally fine, though if we’re including travel time I guess —”

“No no,” her girlfriend interrupts, “you misunderstand. We won’t be going.”

“But you said —” But Lily stops her train of thought right before there’s a collision on the tracks. _Less than that,_ she’d said. Technically _zero_ was less than thirty. Ugh. Why did that wit have to be so charming?!

“Fuck.”

She flops onto her back with a _thud,_ the old wooden stage creaking under her newfound weight. As if it didn’t suck bad enough that she could now eat the entire contents of her junk food cabinet back home without gaining a pound; now she just… can’t go back. _Ever,_ if Jax is to be taken seriously enough.

“Hand me that wrench _mi amor.”_

“Get it yourself.” There’s a long silence as answer and, like always, Lily relents first. Pushes herself up by the heels of her palms and offers the wrench in question with as much attitude as she can muster.

Maricruz takes it — and Lily’s wrist too.

“Lil’…” And _no,_ no Mari is _not_ allowed to sic those big beautiful brown eyes on Lily’s emotionally fragile state right now. 

So she finds a stain on the club floor and stares at it with all her might.

“Lily,” Maricruz sighs, “look at me.”

Who grinds her teeth in her clenched jaw. “No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

_“Pretty_ please?” She tries again, and out of the corner of her eye Lily catches the fluttering of eyelashes that her girl reserves just for her.

_Ugh. You’re so weak Lily Spencer._

But it’s just as she thought. The moment they lock eyes Lily feels the telltale sting of tears start to prickle at the corners. 

She’s doing a lot of crying these days. More of that _“heightened senses, heightened emotions, heightened everything”_ schtick that Jax was more than happy to remind her of. Mari insists it’s just a part of the newbie-vamp life. Swears to Lily up and down and more than several times a day (night?) that it’ll wear off a few months in.

But frankly it feels like one long, never-ending PMS and _being a vampire was supposed to be cool, dammit!_

Two soft somethings press at the curves of Lily’s cheeks. She blinks, feels some tears fall and others cling to her eyelashes. Maricruz wipes those away, too.

“Lost you there for a second.” She chides with an offered smile. And yeah, she really did, because she’s no longer underneath Liv’s stage but now standing between Lily’s legs and cradling Lily’s face in her palms.

Lily who finds herself nuzzling into that touch easily. Frighteningly so.

Hesitantly, she brings up a hand of her own and covers Mari’s with it. “You were so cold back then…” she mumbles, voice distant.

They could finish each other’s sandwiches they’re so in sync. Mari doesn’t even have to ask.

“Comes with the territory. Lucky me that we met in winter.”

“More like lucky _me.”_ She is lucky, isn’t she? What would have happened if they hadn’t secreted away in the back corner of the bar; or if Lily hadn’t mentioned her odd work hours that made Mari’s night-centered life a perfect match?

_Probably everything that happened anyway,_ says a familiar little voice in the corner of her head. It sounds an awful lot like…

Lily squeezes their hands.

_“Please,”_ — one last try can’t hurt — “I just… I really wanna see her. I need to make sure she’s alright.”

Something furrows in Maricruz’s brow. She steps back, just shy of arms’ reach but keeps their fingers connected.

“I know. That doesn’t change my answer.”

“But —”

_“Lily.”_

That voice — that’s a new one. She swears she sees something red flash in Maricruz’s downcast eyes but tries—really tries—to think better of her girlfriend. Tries to think that she wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t lash out. Right?

Lily pulls her hand away. Leaves Mari’s left hanging there, slightly outstretched, grasping at nothing but the stale underground air.

They close into a loose fist that falls limp to her side.

“I know you’re worried about her,” she measures every word carefully, “but trust me… Nadya is just fine. She’s probably the safest human in Manhattan right now.”

Lily’s nose scrunches. “Because of her boss,” a beat, “my Maker.”

It’s not a question. Trust her; she’s already asked that particular question a hundred times and in a hundred different ways. Half of them involving so much swearing it was hard to pick out where the actual question was, too.

In her rational mind, Lily knows that Mari’s really only acting in her best interests. As she is right now, all these heightened feels and stuff, there’s a high chance she and Nadya will come to verbal blows. Best to cool down and go from there, probably.

But nobody has ever made the mistake of calling Lily Spencer _rational._

“I hate her sometimes,” she finally admits — and doesn’t mean a word of it, “like really _really_ hate her. I mean… this is all her fault, isn’t it? If she’d just _told me_ from the start, maybe…” _Maybe things would have turned out differently?_ That’s a laugh.

Maricruz’s frown takes a turn for the scolding. “You don’t _hate her.”_

Maybe not right now. Ask again in ten minutes.

“Fine, then I hate…” She has to hate _something_ right now. She just does.

But as it stands things are pretty good. She has her life(ish), her girlfriend, her girlfriend’s weird boss to help her navigate this bonkers new world she’s stuck in.

_There it is._

“I hate that I didn’t have a say in this shit.”

Maricruz nearly smirks — catches herself because it’s not really a funny thing to say but she loves the woman’s sense of humor; morbid though it may be. “You’re not alone there.”

She hops up beside Lily on the stage. The movement is automatic, like something in the blood, as she finds safety and the only port in the storm of it all with a tattooed arm wrapped around her middle. Lily sighs and turns her face into the crook of Maricruz’s neck.

“I think you’ll find most people down here didn’t get to choose this life. You know I didn’t. Liv didn’t, little Lula didn’t.”

Lily shudders. “Don’t remind me.” She loves the girl, but some things are just too horrible to imagine. Mari nods and lets it go.

“You know what I mean though. Fun fact,” one finger crooks under Lily’s chin and coaxes her out of her hiding spot so they can look each other in the face, “and not many people know this… but Jax didn’t either. He’s just as unlucky as the rest of us.”

“That tracks.”

“Pardon?” She asks, bewildered. It makes Lily laugh; soft and wimpy — but better than nothing these days.

“You don’t go around doing parkour in the sewers with a giant sword on your back without _some_ kind of tragic back-story.”

The look Maricruz gives her says _can’t argue with that,_ so she doesn’t. “I’m just trying to remind you that you’re not alone here, _mi amor._ Be angry, be bitter. But don’t shove it all down. Because nobody’ll get the feeling better than the people you’ve got in your life here and now.”

It’s definitely a great pep talk. Until the end.

Until she’s reminded of the one person who _should_ be here… and isn’t.

“So that’s the difference, huh,” Lily jerks her chin up, then down, “between them up there and us down here. They got to choose, and we didn’t.”

“More or less.”

“That sucks.”

“Life sucks.”

“… And so do we.”

Mari shoves her away, speed definitely more than human but Lily can match her now. At least in the little things. Before she goes tumbling back she grabs her girlfriend’s wrist and tugs her right alongside. The wood protests again, but holds.

And only when the couple is certain they won’t cave the stage in do they dissolve into peals of actual not-half-faked laughter.

“I can’t believe I have to put up with your shitty puns for eternity,” groans Maricruz; not that it stops her from holding on to Lily tight enough to bruise.

It won’t, but.

* * *

_London, Present Day_

Nadya can’t seem to get comfortable no matter what she does. Of course she realizes, possibly too late to be sheepish about it, that she’s just trying to put this off as long as she physically can.

But Lily doesn’t deserve that. So suck it up, Al Jamil.

She settles for resting Lily’s head in her lap. Back pressed up against the headboard flush enough for her spine to itch in protest, legs crossed and Lily cradled there so casually… innocently, even.

Nadya swallows around a dry mouth. She’s not putting it off, not now — but there’s always the chance this could…

And, if it _did,_ then Lily would be…

They’d have to…

So she’s fully within her rights as a best friend and platonic soulmate to take a moment and look down at her. Really, _really_ look at her, and commit that face to her memory. Not anyone else’s, not a vampire’s, not even Lily’s own memories that (because why would the universe not seek to hurt her even more than it already has) have a very real chance of lingering in the aether around her if this goes sour. Just Nadya’s own personal memories.

The kind that stay with you your whole life. Mortal or otherwise.

On the other side of the room Jax clears his throat; the sound brings Nadya out of her reverie but that’s a good thing. She needs to be in the here and now.

“So what exactly are you gonna _do?”_ he asks; and the wary look he gives the pair of them is valid. “And more importantly what will it do to _her?”_

_I have absolutely no freakin’ clue._ Nadya plays it cool with a one-shoulder shrug. “She’s not getting better, but she’s not getting worse either. We know my blood’s stopped the venom or what-have-you from spreading through her whole body. Hopefully that includes her mind.”

His nostrils flare. Whatever protests he wants to voice are left unsaid; probably for the best. Instead he just looks to the bedside where Adrian has pulled up a chair.

“And remind me why you can’t go… you know…” he makes a weird sloping gesture with a flat palm, _“in there_ with her?”

“I’m not a natural psychic. The only reason Nadya and I found Gaius’ memories was because she was guiding me. I would, if I could. But not at the risk of something going wrong because she’s trying to pull her focus in different directions.”

His logic is sound and hard to disagree with. Jax practically sulks at the fact of it.

“Jax, it’s okay,” though Nadya’s smile is strained as she says it, “it’s like you said — Lil’s a fighter. If anyone can beat this it’s her. She might just need a little help… that’s all.”

_That’s all._ Like she isn’t voluntarily breaking down her walls and willingly letting that darkness—the yawning, aching emptiness—back inside.

The moment she presses two fingertips to Lily’s temples, Nadya can feel it. Reaching out, spiderwebbing like the inky void in her veins only to leap from one host to another. It’s cold but it burns, and pitch black but bright enough to make Nadya squeeze her eyes shut.

“Everything okay?” Adrian asks, and even though she can feel his physical presence right where she left him his voice starts to echo fade away.

‘No, but I’d be more nervous if it were.’ She tries to respond; knows the words and remembers how to speak but something just isn’t connecting the two together in her head. 

Well… hopefully he gets the hint since she’s not dead and Lily’s not… you know.

_Lily._

Whatever in-between Nadya’s hovering in right now, she can _feel_ Lily around her. Just thinking her name shifts the nothingness and forms shadows just faint enough for her to see in her periphery. You can’t have shadows without having some form of light.

She blinks.

There’s only one light hanging dim overhead but it’s not the _light_ that’s the big problem. The problem is the persistent hum of the electricity. How she can hear the pulse of it, the waves and currents going this way and that, and the one damned light awful and taunting above her. A shadow slowly eclipses the yellowish glow, large and looming on top of her. Somewhere both distant and entirely too close something large and made of stone falls on top of concrete.

“M-Mari…?” Her mouth is dry, so _so_ dry it feels like everything is splitting from the effort one little name requires. But Nadya’s grateful for it… because that explains everything.

Maricruz looks down at Lily, lying there in the oddly-convenient stone coffin in the lowest sub-basement of Raines Corp., and breaks out into this brilliant smile.

_No wonder Lily fell in love with her so easily._

She smacks her lips together to try and gather some moisture on her tongue. “Why do I feel like I just took the Olympic gold medal of naps…?”

When Maricruz laughs, elbows leaning over her like this is a completely casual Tuesday, it’s both too much and too little. Makes her head hurt and her ears strain for more.

“Because you kinda did, _mi amor,”_ the woman croons, “it’s one of those chocolate medals, but I’m sure you don’t mind.”

No, Lily doesn’t mind at all.

Maricruz reaches inside with both hands, ready to help the newborn vampire up and out into the brave new world, when something snuffs out the lights.

Nadya looks down — she’s herself again, though that’s still just shy of debatable. But she _felt_ like Lily. Not just _like_ her… she _was_ her. Different than with Serafine and Adrian, different than with any other _waking_ attempts to see memories she’s performed. It had been so long since Nadya had one of her nightmares, looking through the eyes of others as herself, that she’d almost forgotten how queasy they made her feel.

But those feelings were nothing compared to how Lily had felt in that memory. In the moment when the lid came off and the person who should have been there wasn’t.

“You didn’t even know Mari was a vampire…” Nadya mumbles, mostly to herself; though maybe Lily can hear her anyway, “I can’t imagine how confused you must have felt. About her, about all of it. Where you were and what was going on and… and I should’ve just stayed with you. Damn what Adrian thought was best. I should have been there, and helped you up, and… and we could have figured out a way. Adrian would have figured out a way — or Kamilah maybe? Something that could have kept you alive and out of hiding and…”

_And what the heck are you actually saying right now?_

Nadya’s laugh is rueful as it echoes in the nothingness around her. “Things would have been so different. You would have been at the Ball… and you’d probably have kicked my butt out right into Kamilah’s arms for a laugh. You would have liked Megan, and dancing with Bran’ and Greer. Next time there’s a fancy vampire ball I’m not gonna let you miss out.

“But then you wouldn’t have gotten so close to Mari, huh, or Jax.” And then what would have happened when everything went south? “I don’t know… maybe it’s stupid to think about how things could have been but you know? You know. Big or little, maybe the differences would have been enough.”

_Enough to save you from_ this. Whatever _this_ was; a fate Lily never deserved nor asked for.

She sighs, her voice a whisper.

“Can’t change the past though… can’t change a lot of things. I wasn’t there then, and rambling into the void won’t change that.”

_Not that it’s stopped you before,_ a playful little thought reminds her — and maybe it’s just wishful thinking but that thought sounds an awful lot like Lily.

When Nadya closes her eyes it feels like she’s in two places at once. Here in this… strangeness. And also not; she can feel the smooth skin of Lily’s cheek under her thumb and her own blood pumping through her veins warm against Lily’s temples. “I wasn’t there then — but I am now. And this time nothing, not even the end of the world, is gonna get me to leave your side.” She feels herself smile here and out there. “And the world _is_ still kinda ending. How else am I gonna survive if not with your zombie-slaying skills?”

Hello? Anyone?

… Nothing.

Then—

“You know… I really love you and all Nadi’ but I’m kinda over dying for you.”

Nadya gives a shameless sigh in relief.

She’s both here and not, out there and not — but Lily’s voice gives some kind of clarity she didn’t know she needed. Leaves her feeling like taffy pulled and wrapped around itself until Nadya is Nadya, looking down with Nadya’s eyes and Nadya’s tears, at Lily coming to life beneath her touch with slow, steady blinks.

“You’d think the once was enough.” Her voice is thick and heavy; like the last few weeks haven’t happened and she just napped through her alarm. Because if anyone could downplay a heretofore impossible vampire coma, it would be Lily-goddamn-Spencer.

Nadya’s words waver with emotion. She couldn’t care less. “I could kiss you right now.”

Lily’s nose scrunches up. “Babe — I can taste your breath from here. No thanks.”

She sits up slowly; joints cracking from lack of use. One hand on her head and her palm bracing her on the bed and she _looks like Lily._ She _acts like Lily._

But that doesn’t stop Adrian from trying to yank Nadya’s arm out of the socket to pull her away and to safety, nor Jax from clutching his sword hilt in one hand and a stake in the other.

Lily may be groggy but she isn’t stupid. The tension in the room brings her back to consciousness like a bucket of ice water dumped over her head. She looks around wildly and every muscle in her body vibrates with energy.

“Hey… guys…” her eyes land on the gleam of Jax’s sword when it catches the overhead light, “uh… what’s up…?”

Jax and Adrian exchange guilty glances. For a pair that had been so resolute before they sure were hesitant now, weren’t they? Of course they were. It’s one thing to say something and a whole other to actually follow through.

One thing to see Lily unconscious and a potential threat… and a whole other to see her awake and afraid.

_Ugh — men._

“How are you feeling?” asks Nadya; mostly because she doubts that would be the first thing either of them would say.

Lily turns around to face her. Her spine cracks all the way down in the most satisfying way. “Uh… like situationally or existentially?”

_Sure sounds like Lily, too._ “Right now, I mean. How are you feeling right now?”

“Kinda hungry, not gonna lie.” She smacks her dry lips together. “And sore. And also kinda… juiced? Like when I went to that small ‘con around Christmas a few years ago. You know, we got snowed in and someone brought mushrooms, and —”

“Oh, I remember.” Such unspeakable horrors weren’t easily forgotten. But that brings up another important point. She has Lily’s memories. Which about ticks off all of Nadya’s boxes. This _has_ to be Lily.

Even if the largely infected skin on her neck is still kinda… _Feral-y._

But what convinces Nadya isn’t good enough for Adrian and Jax, apparently. To make things worse — Lily’s started to notice. She chuckles nervously; flinches when a movement as small as shifting her knee makes Jax tighten the grip on his stake.

“Okay, I’ll bite — pun not intended, but appreciated. What’s going on?”

Finally Adrian leans forward in his chair.

“Lily, what’s the last thing you remember?”

His tone is grave; his expression is graver. All the humor is sucked out of Lily in a rush. Leaving her confused; vulnerable-looking. She really has to think it over.

“The last thing I remember?” Closing her eyes, painting a picture in her mind.

“Uh, there was the underground horror house, obviously. We blew it up, we were running… Nadi’ was… she was hurt but…” But she peeks one eye open. “That can’t be right.”

Nadya wants to reassure her, but Adrian gets there first.

“Keep going. What else?”

“But Nadya, you’re —”

_“Lily.”_

Who looks at him with completely warranted surprise. He’s _never_ snapped at her before; and with a kind of force lacing his voice that makes Nadya break out in gooseflesh.

Don’t ask her how she knows, she just does, but Lily can’t deny him. Not even if she wanted it more than anything in the world.

“Fine,” she scoffs, mutters under her breath, _“wake up on the wrong side of the coffin much…?”_

It works, though. Even if it sucks. Has Lily sitting before them, legs crossed and her best and most scrunchy thinking-face on and doing exactly as her Maker told her. Her lips move soundlessly and too fast for Nadya to try to read even if she had the skill.

Whatever the case, one thing is proven. Lily definitely remembers _a lot._

Too much, maybe. Or just enough, depending on who you ask. Because there’s no denying the fear that hangs around her; a growing miasma.

They all watch, entranced, as Lily slowly brings trembling fingers up to the flesh of her neck. Her eyes open again.

“What happened to me,” —a beat— “why am I not…” _Dead? Or worse?_

And those are big, valid questions. Unfortunately they just so happen to be the ones they don’t have big, valid answers for.

Nadya reaches out—Adrian can kiss her butt right now—and brushes a light touch at Lily’s wrist. “Please Lil’… just start by telling us where you left off.”

She swallows and nods. “I was kicking Feral ass. Then… the Feral was kicking Lily ass. I shot it and it didn’t even _flinch.”_ Unconsciously, her palm comes up over her throat. “I remember it grabbing me and picking me up, and then—like—this white-hot pain. Right… right here.”

Lily traces the uneven skin with a hesitant, tentative touch. Familiarizing herself with the leathery feel of it — sensation dulled even when she digs her nails in but it’s too tough to break. Her exploration ends in four fingers each nestling in four little craters; puckered skin that didn’t heal quite right over the places where the Duchess’ teeth had plunged into her.

“I should be, uh… I shouldn’t be _me,_ right?” She asks Adrian, who for all his forcefulness earlier suddenly can’t look her in the eye.

“I should be a…”

“Yeah,” Jax cuts her off, doesn’t give Adrian the chance to answer, “you should be a Feral right now.”

“But I’m not.”

“That’s still to be determined.”

He gives Lily a one-shouldered shrug. Feigning his usual on-brand careless attitude, but the only person he’s trying to fool is himself. He hasn’t let go of the stake.

It’s clear pretty quickly that’s all he has to say on the matter, so Lily turns her imploring look to Nadya. Nadya who was the first person she saw waking up, who has been the only one to touch her since.

“Nadi’, please tell me what the ever-loving fuck is going on.”

Nadya hesitates and thinks back on what Adrian had said after her proposal. _“We shouldn’t rush her into this. Baby steps, a little bit of information at a time. The more time she has to process everything the more time we have to watch how she reacts. To see… to see if there’s anything unusual about her behavior.”_

Which made sense in the moment.

But that moment didn’t include Lily’s big brown eyes, brimming with tears and looking Nadya right in the heart and soul.

Nadya had been willing to risk everything to save her, to bring her back, all of it. How could she possibly stop now?

She links their fingers together and starts talking before either Adrian or Jax can stop her.

“The Feral whose memories I kept seeing, the Duchess? She followed us to the Cathedral by sniffing out the trail of my blood. Only when she tasted it she… wasn’t exactly a Feral anymore. She was conscious—sentient, whatever you wanna call it. She could act and think differently than the rest of the horde.

“She bit y—” she swallows, steels her nerves, keeps going, “— you. Because you shot her. She retaliated, she… she got revenge.”

Though the hand in hers tightens, by all accounts Lily is taking is pretty well. A lot better than Adrian had given her credit for, and even better than Nadya herself had hoped. _This is a good thing,_ she keeps telling herself — because if she doesn’t it won’t be true, _this means good things._

After a long silence Lily nods; raises her chin. “Keep going.”

So she does. Though explaining her actions, her reactions and reasons and behaviors after the fact makes her sound awful and selfish and cruel to her friends, Nadya wouldn’t take any of it back; and says so. “I knew it was dangerous. But I wasn’t… I couldn’t…

“I know I did the same thing as before. I know I chose for you, but… there was a way to save you, however small, and I couldn’t… _not_ try.”

“Even if it meant I killed you in the process?” counters Lily, and rightfully so. Nadya tries not to cringe _too_ harshly.

“I don’t think you would’ve.”

“Are you lying to me right now?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You either are,” Lily’s frown deepens, “or you aren’t. It can’t be both.”

“I don’t know, okay? You were dying, or worse, and I just… you know?”

It’s not exactly the eloquently wordy persuasion that got her through her communications degree but there’s a part of Nadya that thinks, on some level, that _her Lily_ would understand her no matter how many words she used. That’s how they’ve always been, and how they were supposed to always be.

So she holds her breath — and Lily’s hand — and hopes, and hopes…

… and exhales in relief when Lily finally nods.

“Yeah. I know.”

Nadya takes their joined hands and kisses Lily’s knuckles. Wills herself not to blink because the last thing any of them need right now is another round of sobbing Bloodkeeper.

“And…” Lily hesitates until Nadya looks back up, “and thanks, I guess. For saving my—my life and all. Uhm, I’m totally grateful, especially since I was just getting used to _one_ afterlife… but I’m gonna need to know what the chances of me going grey and bald every full moon are. Like… as soon as possible.”

A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of Adrian’s lips; there and then gone in the same moment when he reminds himself _‘this is no laughing matter.’_

“That’s not quite how it works.” He corrects, and regrets it the moment it earns him the full weight of Spencer-sass.

“And _you’d_ know?”

_Yup, this is definitely Lily._ No one else could spend a month in a supernatural coma only to wake up and immediately invent a new type of uncomfortable silence like it was nothing. She’s sure of it.

So why, when she tries to catch their smiles with her own, are neither of the other vampires sharing her enthusiasm? Nadya tries not to let it show but she’s never really been able to hide anything she’s feeling from the likes of Lily. Who definitely takes notice.

“Come on Nadi’, mama needs snackage —” she tugs them both up in what’s probably supposed to be a light movement, but ends up with Nadya airborne for definitely half a second from the force of it, “— been asleep too long I guess… forgot my own strength…”

If only she sounded like she believed it.

But at the risk of the tension swallowing them up again she takes the lead; dragging Lily behind her towards the main room and their hosts.

Who look the picture of domestic life where they sit on the couch, flicking through channels and curled up in each other’s arms. Like there wasn’t some big psychic vampire-hoodoo going on in their spare bedroom. “Well good morning, sleeping beauty!” teases Greer when he throws them back a look. “How’re you feeling?”

_Confused,_ judging by the way she looks between them. But it’s a feeling she gets over surprisingly quickly and with a smile. “Ashy, not gonna lie.”

Brandon snorts. “Doesn’t even surprise me. Turn back around, last door on the left. Lotion’s in the cupboard.”

“Lifesaver!”

It’s clear though when they hear the bathroom door close it wasn’t solely for Lily’s personal benefit. “Everything okay?”

Nadya hopes her shrug looks as confident as she pretends it to be. “I think so? I mean, that’s definitely Lily.”

“I have eyes, yes. But is she… _just_ herself?”

“We can’t know for sure until she feeds,” Adrian cuts in; much to Nadya’s relief, “that’s something you can help with, I’ve been told?”

Without an answer Greer grabs for his phone on the coffee table and starts scrolling through contacts.

Brandon nods. “We can try.”

Jax gives a curt nod of thanks. “We’d appreciate it. And owe you bigtime.” Which Brandon waves off, but sentiment and all.

“Ideally we’re looking for somewhere close,” continues Adrian, “somewhere quiet, without a crowd… somewhere we can keep an eye on her just in case. A controlled environment.

“Have anywhere like that?”

The boys exchange a glance in silence. Though he tries to hide it, Nadya doesn’t miss the lopsided look to Greer’s smile. Even now, a year later, the sight of that devilish grin brings back memories… or rather the lack of them… and the distinct taste of peach vodka at the back of her mouth.

* * *

The pounding bass must be wreaking havoc on their supernatural hearing. Adrian shoves a finger in his right ear but from the looks of it, that’s not much help.

“THIS IS EXACTLY THE OPPOSITE OF WHAT I HAD IN MIND!” 

But his shouts are utterly in vain; voice carried on the electronica and lost in the crowd packed tightly together down below.

There’s a tap on Nadya’s shoulder — Brandon beckons her closer with a hand. Brushes her hair aside like a curtain to speak right into her ear because that’s the only way anyone can have a darn conversation in places like these.

“Tell him I’m sorry, yeah?”

Her nose scrunches. “For what?”

“This—here—” he gestures around them, “—it’s the only kinda place what’s safe these days. You know—from the Order.” 

_As if their plate wasn’t chock-full of problems already._ Brandon continues, “We tried warehouses, empty churches or those old empty Mayfair lots. Only thing what seems to work is places with the biggest risk, make sense?” And surprisingly… yeah, it does.

“Exposure — you get outed, so do they.”

“Top marks. So watch who hears what, yeah?”

“Gotcha.”

_“Oi!_ Are we gonna stand ‘round with our thumbs up our holes or are we gonna celebrate our girl’s _miraculous resurrection?!”_

With a smile that couldn’t be less apologetic if he tried, Greer loops his and Lily’s arms and leads them down in a hasty trot of rubber-sole platforms.

Adrian waits expectantly for Jax to agree with him. They had back at the apartment, after all. In fact Nadya’s pretty sure these past weeks are the longest they’ve gone without actually arguing.

Looks like they’ve lost their streak. Shame.

“I’ll keep an eye on them,” Jax mutters; begrudging and resigned. He’s half a step out to join the others when Adrian stops him with a firm hold.

He keeps his voice low. Eyes sweeping the dance floor pulsing every color of the neon rainbow. “You know this is a bad idea. She could be —”

“Yeah, Raines, I heard you the first five times.”

“If she loses control for even a _second…”_

“You just said it yourself, _‘if.’_ But did you ever consider that she won’t?” Jax wrenches himself from the older vampire’s grip; checking the leather for any signs of tear casually.

“No offense man — but you weren’t there the first time Lily went through all this. I was.”

Like most times where _‘no offense’_ is warranted, Adrian is indeed fully offended. Enough to reel back half a step; lost for words. “I —”

“You may be older than me, you may know more history than me, but knowledge ain’t everything. And it certainly doesn’t make up for experience. Your blood may have been what Turned her Raines but I was the one who was there — through every frenzy, every bout of bloodlust. She’s tougher than you think. She deserves a little more credit.

“The way I see it, the more we remind her of what _could be_ different the more she’ll _be_ different. She’s still _Lily;_ she’s been through this once and got out on the other side just fine. We owe it to her to believe she can do it again.”

If Adrian has anything to say, Jax doesn’t stick around long enough for him to say it. He spares a quick and curt nod Nadya’s way then takes the metal stairs two at a time to catch up with Greer and Lily before they end up lost in the crowd.

She almost forgets Brandon’s still with them. Until he clears his throat, gestures awkwardly with his thumb and forefinger; his half-formed “—well—uh—” and “I’m gonna—yup—” acting as a meager farewell.

_Well… now what?_

“Adrian…”

He shrugs away from her almost-touch. “Don’t—I mean… it’s fine. I know you agree with him.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, please. I can talk for myself.”

He hesitates… then seems to remember himself, and gives one curt nod.

“My apologies.”

“It’s fine. And yeah, I kinda do think he’s got a point. So do you. But this is gonna be hard enough for all of us without you two getting into it over newbie-vampire _parenting techniques.”_

It’s actually kind of apt, and gets her a side-eye and the familiar arch of Adrian’s eyebrow. Nadya didn’t realize how long it’s been since she’s seen that borderline playful disbelief and humor in the glint of his eye but it’s comforting after all this. It feels a little like home.

“Now that that’s taken care of, Jax’s idea was a good one. They’ll keep an eye on her from in there — and while we watch from out here you can get to buying my drink.”

She offers him her bent elbow because she knows he won’t refuse. Adrian’s a gentleman after all — through and through. Linked up they make their descent underwhelming and average. Their plain clothes and vanilla smiles not even worthy of second glances from the club’s other attendees.

It’s actually a nice change.

“What did you have in mind?”

Nadya rolls her eyes, as if to say _you even have to ask?_

“Wine.”

“Ah yes, tried and true.”

“Not a bad go-to for supernatural bombshells, as far as vices go.” Her grin glows blue under the black-light. “I’m thinking about making it a tradition.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And _here we go..._ I'm so excited to be able to bring 2 chapters to you guys on the book 5 premiere day. It was rough going at first but I finally have the direction I want to get to and I'm really excited with where the story is taking me... will be taking us, I suppose. As always, comments and critique would be amazing. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has stayed with me so far and will continue to follow Nadya et al in the chaos of this story! You guys give me so much inspiration I can't even describe how happy it makes me. Thank you for reading!


	3. The Capture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A midnight ambush led by the Order of the Dawn puts Lily at risk and forces Nadya to decide just how far she's willing to go to survive the trials ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warnings** : language, violence, canon-typical violence, nameless character death, dissociation, themes parallel to religious zealotry. interrogation

The Order deems it a risk worth taking.  


At the stroke of midnight all the lights go out. No one suspects; it’s all just another part of the show. Until it isn’t.

The lights come back on. Humming with life; the only sound in the silence and the shock.

It’s as if they appear out of thin air. A uniform ring of white shoulder-to-shoulder around the club’s perimeter. Heads held high, faces hidden behind helmets with dark-tinted visors.

And each of them with the same metallic glint emblazoned on their chest. The _fleur-de-lis_ like a little golden shield over their hearts.

_“Get Nadya out of here!”_

Does she growl? Yeah, she actually _growls._ “When are you guys gonna learn _I do not need to be shoved out the back door all the time!”_

Something hisses a sharp whistle less than a breath away from her ear. “Gah!” Her hand flies up to grab it — still there, thank god. “What—who—where—!”

But Nadya’s reaction is delayed from shock; by the time she’s turned to see what the noise was the crossbow bolt is already buried deep in the concrete splattered with glow-in-the-dark paint.

Adrian rounds on her. His glare illuminated in dazzling neon colors from the strobes overhead.

“You were _saying?”_

“Did it hit me?!”

“Nadya —”

_“—bite me, Raines!—”_

“No, _duck!”_

She half-ducks, half-ends up shoved down with Adrian’s hand wide on the crown of her head. Ends up pressed belly-down on the dance floor and honestly the it’s a sight so gruesome she’d almost prefer wherever their attackers might throw them to rot.

There’d be less mysterious glowing splatters sticking to her skin, that’s for sure.

She curls up small and tight as she can to avoid being trampled by the stampeding chaos around her. Raver boots and kitten heels and the all-too-familiar thick rubber soles of white hide boots splattered with the blood of innocents all competing for a spot on the DJ’s next set. One of those particular boots makes the mistake of stopping just to Nadya’s left.

The Order troop pivots and this close she can hear the click and twang of a crossbow being loaded, aimed, ready to fire—

“No you don’t!” She jabs her switchblade down through the top of the boot. Above her the man howls in pain and surprise. 

The blade is shallow; not enough to make any lasting cut. But every little bit counts.

It’s enough for the blessed sight of Lily’s steel-toed boot to come from out of nowhere and send the trooper packing with a powerful backhand.

“Having fun down there, Nadi’?”

Lily offers her a fishnet-decked hand. Nadya takes it, slips on attempts one and two with the sweat gathered in her palms, and hauls up to her feet by the third time’s the charm.

They exchange equally strained smiles. Nadya can taste her own blood on her teeth.

 _“‘Fun’_ is a word. Not one I’d _use_ but you know.” _Oh she knows._ There’s a fire in the young vampire’s eyes now. Awakened by their previous trials burning and bright and _this is just the beginning._

_Which… they could stand to step into this particular pile of crapola a bit less, just sayin’._

“Less talky, more stakey.”

“Yeah yeah yeah!”

Like a pair of gunslingers they turn back to back and begin their paces. Only Lily’s are enough to cross the room in a single breath and bring her right in the personal space of a very pissed and _very_ large Order troop. 

He towers over her — a wall of solid muscle and vampire-killing rage. But his helmet was knocked off sometime in between the midnight strike and now and that means he doesn’t have a visor shielding the look on his face when he takes Lily in. And he does — he doesn’t have any other choice. Every vibrating-at-the-edges, skin-greying-ashen-and-blood-vessels-gone-black inch of her.

 _That’s new._ New and very _very VERY_ bad.

“What— _What are you?!”_ He cries out. Just in time for her to snatch him by the meaty throat. Her nails sharp and long like talons digging into his flesh.

Nadya risks her life and a lot more by stopping to watch. She’s almost glad she can’t see Lily’s face from this angle. One last attempt at ignorance.

_“Your worst nightmare.”_

_CRACK._

The troop crumples to the ground dead at her feet. His stake clatters not far behind and rolls off — lost to the stampede.

Then a heavy, violent hand claps down on Nadya’s shoulder. Forces her to turn and stare into her own distorted reflection through the soldier’s visor. If only she could take a moment and admire how _not terrified_ she looks.

“Unholy demons, a pestilence upon the earth,” the Order member’s snarls are muffled through the white leather mouthpiece but never fear… she knows the spiel by now, “you shall be cleansed in holy fire and the Order’s guiding light!”

Nadya’s sweaty grip tightens on her weapon. But it won’t be enough for the thicker parts of the armor…

_Think moron, think!_

_Distract!_

“What, you mean this stuff?” She jerks her chin to the club lights carrying on like a big-ass fight between vampires and vampire hunters is just another Tuesday. _“This_ is the Order’s _‘guiding light?’_ Spring for a disco ball next time!”

“We are the Flame and the Fight; our light is all which burns your kind!”

_Good grief._

“Do you really think this is doing anything; saving my soul, repenting my whatever?”

“Only the damned are so glib in the face of their demise.”

“More like I’m used to this by now.” Before Nadya can relish her witty victory for even a second, the sharpened tip of a very _big_ stake presses over her heart.

“You have evaded death for long enough then.” They raise their weapon; aiming high and true. “The Order releases you of your curse!”

In a familiar, practiced motion they plunge the stake down… only to be stopped just shy of leaving a dent in Nadya’s heaving chest.

“You realize she’s human, right?” Jax asks — and he squeezes harder, and harder, and harder until the wooden shaft splinters in his grasp. The tip falls to the floor harmless and forgotten.

The soldier’s head turns minutely; expressionless and emotionless yet Nadya can feel the way they begin to shake where they hold her. Where Jax has them held with his other hand secured firmly on the back of their neck. Like the scruff of a scolded dog.

“She —” obviously _no, they didn’t realize that at all_ and that’s just great, “— she willingly spoils herself in the company of demons, devils!”

Jax rolls his eyes. “Well yeah, no shit. Do you really think the world is as pure of a place as your ridiculous _doctrine_ makes it out to be?” He looks at Nadya as if to say _get a load of this moron._ Frankly she’s resolutely in agreement there.

Without wasting any more time and starkly aware of the continuing fight around them, Jax pries Nadya from her attacker’s hand. Separates them at arms’ length and levels the faceless troop with possibly the most pitying, embarrassed frown she’s ever seen. The kind that burns you so bad you lie awake at night, ten years later, and _that look_ is the first thing to come to mind.

“I’d hate to live in that world. It sounds boring as hell.”

Then they’re flung off into oblivion — over the crowd like some kind of aerialist and off into the dark.

“I totally had that.” _No, she very much did_ not _have that._

All Jax has to do is raise a single dark eyebrow.

“… Okay, fine. Thanks for saving my life.”

“How many times is that now?”

“Enough that we should probably invest in karate lessons or life insurance for me.”

“Both options are viable.” Then he reaches into his jacket lining; procuring a long and ornamental dagger as if from thin air. “But since you insist on being a reckless moron; here.”

The weight of the pommel is heavier than it looks; decorated with dozens of little blood-red garnets crafted into the handle. A relic from the King’s Manor, her mind supplies absently. But a weapon is a weapon; and this one is infinitely better than the one she had.

“Stay alive.”

But when Nadya looks back up Jax is gone. Launching himself back into the fray because this isn’t an enemy they’ll be running from. Not this time.

This isn’t like their less-than-a-dozen lessons in the bare minimum of self defense. There’s no montage to throwing punches into Adrian’s cupped hands like training gloves or getting hurled flat on her back by Jax only to be told all the things she did wrong leading up to mock-K.O. If only.

This is swinging a sword for the first time hard enough to decapitate a vampire mobster, or catching a jagged piece of wood with the last of her luck to stake another vampire mobster.

_Why did pop culture fiction severely underestimate the sheer number of vampire mobsters she’d be dealing with?_

This is aim-the-pointy-end-at-the-bad-guys-ohgodohgod _ohgodINCOMING—!_

Less than a second to _get back in the moment, Al Jamil_ and he’s lunging at her arms-out and ready to let his weight pin her to the ground. Classic lumbering-henchman mistake. Like this he leaves two wide gaps underneath his hold and Nadya doesn’t even question her ability to slip through and escape.

 _“No you don’t—!”_ The troop snarls gruffly; and because they’re both human that narrows this down to a skill-set thing, of which the winner is definitely not Nadya. Not by a long shot.

He yanks her back by the hair; sick bastard that he is almost relishes her scream drowned out among all the rest. Frantic eyes looking this way and that before he whips her around and back into the wall hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs. One last glimpse of humans running, vampires fighting and feeding; her friends fighting their own battles for their own lives and no one to magically come to her rescue this time.

_Well it was bound to happen sooner or later._

Head throbbing; stinging pain. Stars blinking in and out of existence behind her eyelids—wait… no her eyes are open. _That’s not good._ Blinding Nadya vulnerable so she doesn’t see the fist that slams into her gut and threatens to bring back up what wasn’t actually a bad wine — for a sketchy underground night club. 

A second punch and she tastes bile raw at the back of her throat. “Befouled—human—” he grunts; a third punch and Nadya’s legs are half a second away from going out beneath her, “—how little you must think—of your life—to waste it—on these _demons!”_

The dagger almost slips from her grasp and in return reminds her it’s there; a self-fulfilling prophecy of sorts. The gems dig uneven in her shaking grip but she waits—waits—waits for the inhale of a drawn-back fist before she strikes.

Nadya’s vision clears just in time. She watches the blade sink through the armor’s leather hide right between the ribs. Smooth like butter; she barely has to force it in.

_“Hrrk—!”_

Behind the helmet Nadya can’t see how he chokes on his own words. It’s not enough though — even with a shaking hand he grabs all-too-easily onto Nadya’s throat. _Squeezes._

The dagger goes in just as easily the second time. And the third; and the fourth. Over and over until she’s just widening old wounds instead of making new ones. Until she’s familiar with how it sounds, smells, _feels_ to cut into flesh and muscle and bone with all her might.

The troop isn’t spouting off his chanting doctrine anymore. The fabric between his collar and headpiece bleeds red on white; he tries one last time to squeeze her eyes out of her skull but it’s in vain. His grasp falls and Nadya _breathes;_ deep, gulping inhales of hot air stale with sweat and tears and blood but right now it feels like heaven. Her hand flies up to her neck as if to protect it from getting in that previous, dizzying oxygen.

With all her might Nadya shoves. Forces his weight back into the chaos before it can crush her. Just over the blood roaring in her ears Nadya catches the wet _CRACK_ when skull meets concrete; watches his splayed limbs twitch one last time — before going still.

It’s only when six whole second have passed — enough time for her to wipe blood splatter from her cheek and sweat out of her eyes and bring that sweet sweet _life-saving_ knife close to her chest and clutched tight in both white-knuckled hands — that it hits her.

The body at Nadya’s feet, more than a head taller and just _lying there,_ is still a body.

It hasn’t turned to ash.

_Ohmygod… I just ki… I just kill…_

She just killed a man; a one-life-to-live _human_ man. It shouldn’t be different — this is an existential crisis she should have had over a year ago by now — but it is. _It just is._

 _“Why,”_ asks that little voice in her head; the one that should be telling her how _royally_ screwed she is karmically but instead chose today of all days to play Devil’s Advocate, _“because he was human, and so are you? Lesser men have died for pettier reasons.”_

“Because murder is _murder.”_ Nadya insists aloud. Something about saying it breaks the spell of her shock. 

Next thing she knows she’s on her knees, fighting through the stinging burning pain, fumbling to try and take off _some_ part of that ridiculous and impractical uniform in search of a pulse.

 _“The Order is resolute; kill or be killed.”_ She ignores it; or tries her best. Fights through her shaking hands with two fingers pressed against the _squish_ of bloody nylon and finds — distant and weak and at the bottom of the well — the tiniest _ba-bump_ of a beating heart.

_“The ends justify the means.”_

“Shut up! No they don’t!”

But what can she do? Shout _HELP_ while kneeling over the body of the enemy in the middle of this pandemonium? Try and save the man who was _in the process_ of choking her to death so he can do it again?

 _“Then save him. If your path be so_ righteous,” the voice sneers, _“then take the high ground and save him.”_

“I—I can’t.”

_“You can. You choose not to.”_

“Stop it.”

_“This is a just killing. A message to be heeded. They should be afraid.”_

“… of what?”

 _“Of_ you,” is the purred, almost sultry answer, _“and of what you are willing to do to survive.”_

That… that doesn’t even bear repeating. It doesn’t sound like Nadya at all, in fact. But maybe part of her knows that — has known it from the start. The same part of her that feels the troop take his last, shuddering breath before going limp under her fingers. That stalled, argued; waited for him to die as a reason to say she had no other choice.

“Get out of my head Gaius.”

There it is. That melodious, malicious laughter that haunts her dreams and nightmares both. Bouncing around her skull over and over and it does eventually start to fade — bringing Nadya back to the present in a give-and-take — but it takes it’s sweet time.

 _Gaius_ takes his sweet time leaving her head. And finds a sick satisfaction in that his words remain.

_“OMEGA MANEUVER! FALL BACK!”_

The Order is retreating.

The Order is retreating?

Nadya scrambles for the dagger just out of reach; looks up just in time to see a flurry of uniforms stained with blood and ash start to make for the flights of stairs. Their flight to freedom.

 _“Abandon all pursuits! New objective!”_ Shouts one, their commander, from atop the rafter railings. _“Second wave — secure the abomination!”_

Secure—what?!

Something purple blurs in with the white out of the corner of her eye. Nadya whirls around; to her feet. Her stomach drops back to the floor.

Lily hangs limp and unconscious over one’s shoulder. Her hair bouncing like purple tendrils with the movement. It’s not an unfamiliar sight for Nadya to see — but it’s not Jax carrying her, or Adrian. It’s _the Order and they’re taking her._

_I just got her back._

“LILY!” Even at the top of her lungs she’s rasping and weak. Bruises starting to form in a chain at her throat. _“LILY!”_

Wherever Adrian and Jax are it’s not here; it’s not enough. Nadya clenches her hands into bloodstained fists and takes off in a sprint. Like somehow sheer force of will is enough to overpower the closest troops tailing the end of their squadron. “Give her back! Let her go! _JAX! ADRIAN!”_

She charges into them like a (tiny) bull.

_“Wh—the fuck?”_

Lash out with her right hand; grabbed and held in a grip like a vice. Lash out with her left; but they grab that too. They hold Nadya up so high her feet barely skim the ground and she’s torn between fighting them off and keeping her eyes on Lily and screaming for her friends and panicking about what it means that they aren’t coming to save her from this.

“Let her go! LILY! Letmego youBASTARD!”

 _“Throw it down the stairs,”_ says her left hand.

 _“It knows the abomination,”_ counters her right. Whatever else her shackles decide they do it over her head and without words.

Something whistles behind her head; the sound of something being swung through the air.

Then it all goes dark.

* * *

_“You know the Chancellor is going to expect an answer as to why you called a retreat.”_

_“I’m well aware. You leave the Chancellor to me.”_

A pause. _“And what about the human?”_

_“What about her?”_

_“Are you planning on bringing her back to base, as well?”_

The sound of skin on skin. Breath hissed from someone’s lungs. It’s the kind of slap that’s definitely gonna leave a mark.

 _“One — question me again private and the consequences will be…_ severe.” One simple word spoken between clenched teeth; that’s all that’s needed. The implication is enough. _“Two — the human familiar and the abomination are connected. Could be the human knew the soul that was corrupted and Turned, and hasn’t yet accepted the truth and the light.”_

_“Yes, Coordinator sir. My apologies, sir.”_

The bare hand is warm as it cards through Nadya’s hair. The Coordinator pushes her head back with his palm. She can feel them staring at her — the hatred in their eyes that burn like hot coals — and she nearly breaks under the weight of their scrutiny. Nearly.

But she finds the will to keep playing pretend. Keeps her eyes closed gently and still and forces herself to breathe in — _onetwothreefourfivesix_ — and out — _onetwothreefourfivesixseveneight_ — in a convincing mockery of sleep. Unconsciousness is what she’s going for, but seeing as she’s never been conscious to see herself breathing while unconscious…

Anyway…

The Coordinator pulls his hand back and lets Nadya’s head fall forward; hanging limp once again.

_“Should it become necessary, the human will be far easier to… convince… than that wretched monstrosity.”_

_Convince._ Which is apparently thick-Russian-accented-English for _torture-the-info-out-of._ Some things you just know in your bones.

They leave her hanging on that note; all Nadya hears over her head is the rustle of that leathery armor followed by receding footsteps. Going… going… gone.

The problem with faking it is she has no idea when it’s safe to _stop._ Nadya strains her ears—or hopes that’s what she’s doing—until her eardrums pop. But beyond the distant white-noise of the aircon there’s just… nothing. No Order troops, no Lily, no _nothing._

_Swear to god, if I open my eyes and Gaius is sitting down for dinner…_

Here goes everything.

Nadya looks up… and right into the teeny tiny curved black lens of a webcam. It’s white, wireless, practically seamless and easy enough to unhook from its stand and slip right into your pocket. It sits proud atop an equally sleek and white tripod. At a certain angle Nadya might not have even noticed it; modern camouflage. And all the way at the top a little red LED blinks on. Like it was waiting for her to make the first move.

That… would be the recording light, huh?

“Well that’s just _neat.”_

She’s kind of surprised when the cramped room — not a room; she’s seen enough crime serials to know the inside of a storage container when she sees one — doesn’t immediately flood with Order goons with crossbows at the ready etcetera etcetera. But what happens on the silver screen stays there; there isn’t so much as a whisper on the wind.

Several long hours pass… or possibly just a few minutes, there’s nothing marking the passage of time and Nadya’s a little too jittery to count higher than two-hundred right now… and still nada. The camera keeps recording, Nadya keeps trying to fix her hair using the lens as a reflection, her hair keeps getting worse.

Lily’s probably _dead_ by now, or worse — heading _‘back to base.’_ She has no idea what happened to Adrian and Jax, or Brandon and Greer, that kept them from joining her to rescue Lily. Her hands are itching like _crazy_ with the dried blood of the _dude she killed earlier at some point_ which is a whole other can of worms she’s trying not to open right now.

And now that she’s thought about itching she’s gone and screwed herself with an itchy nose; because the way her hands are bound behind the back of her chair means she’s gonna have to sit there and _suffer._

“Well this tracks.” Is she speaking to the camera — is anyone even on the other end of that thing? Who knows; an answer for both questions. “What’d you think was gonna happen? Were you gonna spontaneously manifest awesome hero powers and save her? Nah… more like you probably just expected someone else to swoop in at the last second. And look where that gotcha.”

Nadya sighs heavy and in her shoulders; winces at the twinge of pain in her muscles that aren’t supposed to bend this way for this long. “Make up your mind, Nadya… you can’t be an optimist and a pessimist _and_ a realist all at the same time. I guess we haven’t tried nihilism yet…

“We’re just full of good ideas and bad executions. _Ooh,_ I should make that a bumper sticker when we get home. Sneak it on Adrian’s Mercedes or something.” She snickers at her own wit. It’s official — she’s lost it. “But my intentions were good — that’s gotta count for something. Right? Even if it… even if it didn’t always end sunshine and rainbows. I wanted to do good, the best I could. Yeah—Yeah that’s definitely important.”

_Sounds an awful lot like you’re trying to convince yourself…_

“Hey,” she snaps at… herself, “who asked you? Huh? I don’t need to _convince myself_ of anything. I wanted to do good!”

_And how did that work out?_

… Nadya’s head hangs forward. Suddenly it feels so heavy; so burdened.

“It got my best friend killed. Twice. It made Kamilah think I saw her as a monster, and not… and I thought it would bring Adrian closure but it just made things worse there too. Cool cool cool… that’s great on the ol’ self-esteem.”

_Accept your failures. Move on._

Her nose scrunches up; which does nothing whatsoever to relieve her itch. “You know I think I liked it more when the jerk-adjacent part of my personality sounded like Gaius.” _Probably because it was easier to ignore it then…_ but that’s a thought that’s all her, but not one she’s ready to say out loud yet.

Self-reflection. The Order of the Dawn truly was a master of torture.

The red light on top of the camera blinks off. The container-room looks so absent without it. But she barely has time to figure out why that is, let alone think about the implications behind what the light could _mean,_ before the sounds of a mechanical lock opening _clicks,_ echoes, and ends up followed by the screeching hinges of an opening door.

The Order member strides in like he owns the place. He does, sure, but he _acts like it,_ too. Acts like he owns the world, even. Hands folded behind his back when the door behind him closes without ceremony.

The man stops on the other side of the web cam; an arms’ length away so it just happens to exist between them. Even with his full helmet and visor showing Nadya nothing but her own distrusting face she just _knows_ he’s looking her over. Assessing the threat — or lack thereof. But two can play at that game.

Nadya notes a gold-plated dagger on one hip and a gold-plated sword on the other. Fastened securely in place by the same, likely standard-issue belt the rest of the troops who had attacked the club wore. Which meant it had more than a few surprises of the exploding kind hidden away. The _fleur-de-lis_ is standard too, but Nadya’s got a hunch the various golden pins and tiny bar-plates fastened neat and tidy around it aren’t.

They’re like… no, they _are_ military badges. Service, honor, rank; and knowing these sick, twisted people some of them probably show off a certain number of vampires killed.

But _all this…_ and there’s only one thing Nadya can’t keep a straight face for.

“Lemme guess… you’re _‘the Coordinator,’_ then?”

Because she can’t see his face there’s nothing preparing her for when he responds; “How did you come to that conclusion?”

Nadya nods at him with her chin. Notes curiously that sometime in the middle of their stare-down the cam light had blinked back to life.

“The cape.” There are more than a few snarky remarks on the tip of her tongue — stalling tactics, _keep him talking,_ that sorta thing — but in a rare act of self-preservation Nadya swallows them down unspoken.

Maybe it’s all the sleek white uber-tech, more likely it’s the way his combo of blades shine menacingly at his hips. Regardless, too much talking is probably a bad thing with these guys.

No response, no _nothing._ Just an empty face pointed her way and Nadya shifts in discomfort; a second-nature reaction to feeling so hot under the collar.

“Where is Lily?” No response.

“Where is Lily _please?”_ Nothing.

“I know you took her. Don’t try and hide it.” Doesn’t seem like he would though, either way.

Nadya rolls her shoulders again; testing the rope binding her hands as subtly as she can — the tension, the thickness. Who knew it would be in a secret torture storage container in England that Nadya’d find herself regretting all the work she put into convincing her mom _not_ to put her in the Girl Scouts! Of course Jax’s dagger is probably long gone…

 _But Cadence’s switchblade isn’t._ She feels it, warm from her body heat, textured grip chafing her heel right at the cutoff of her night-out boots.

 _I couldn’t have realized that_ five minutes ago?!

The web cam light gives a single blue flash.

“Tell us what you know of the abomination.” The Coordinator demands; so sudden and unexpected Nadya jumps and spreads her fingers wide and away from the nylon knot. Doubtful those visors give the Order x-ray vision, though, or she wouldn’t have her secret (and… probably smelly to be honest) weapon in her shoe.

This time Nadya gives him the silent treatment.

The light flashes again. Red—blue—red that holds.

“Tell us what you know about the abomination.”

Seems like they’re caught in some freaky cycle — where no one comes out satisfied.

“I can do this all day, pal.”

Red—blue—red.

“Did you share a personal connection with the soul that once lived inside that body?”

Nadya slides her boots back less than an inch.

“D’you mean ‘was I friends with Lily before she Turned?’ Yes. And—by the by—she still has her soul.”

Blue. “How was the abomination created?”

“Are you asking me how vampires are Turned?”

Blue. “How did it acquire its unique characteristics?” Nadya pales; but before she can speak the Coordinator changes the script — he keeps going.

“Enlarged primary maxillary canines; previously undocumented secondary maxillary canines. Discoloration and disfiguration of the flesh; dulled sensitivity, increased resilience. Heightened aggression—compared to standard test subjects… Many attributes typically used to mark the rabid ‘Feral’ subspecies.”

“Is that how you live with yourself,” she spits; dramatic and kinda gross but enough to cover up the sound of her shifting boot, “is that how any of you sleep at night? No names, no identities; just cold explanations for your cold freakin’ heart?”

No answer. Blue.

“How did it acquire its unique characteristics?”

Nadya jerks in her chair — every inch a diva. And this diva just kicked up her back leg high enough to clutch a switchblade in one shaking fist. “Oh _come on!_ Just move onto the next category because we both know I’m not gonna tell you anything.”

She’s unsure _exactly_ when; but at some point she must have started treating the web cam like a third person in the room. Maybe because it shows more than the zero-zip-zilch the Coordinator gives her. Maybe because it’s pretty obvious that little light is the one calling the shots.

Nadya glares into the lens. Puts all her strain trying not to cut herself on her own escape plan into the harshest glare she can muster and all at whoever sits on the other end of that camera.

Red—green—red. The Coordinator brings a gloved hand up to the side of his head. Listening to something—orders most likely—on an unseen ear-piece. He nods once. Words muffled by the mouthpiece of his helmet. And Nadya waits on bated breath for whatever new lineup of questions he’s been given.

No amount of waiting could ever be enough.

“Do you share a personal connection with Gaius Augustine?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this may seem a little delayed in comparison to the canon introduction of the Order, but I promise it's all for a reason! Thank you for reading and as always comments and critique are more than welcome. See you next week!


	4. The Prisoners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having unwittingly gained the interest of the Order, Nadya and Lily prepare for the possibility that they are officially out of miraculous saves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warnings** : language, violence, captivity/dehumanization, themes related to religious zealotry, blood
> 
>  **note:** This chapter contains potentially upsetting depictions of dehumanization and captivity.

Sure, go ahead and dehumanize _every other_ vampire by not calling them by their names. But the worst of the literal worst — _nah fam, he’s cool._  


He and the Order of the Dawn are on a _first name basis._

“Do you share a personal connection with Gaius Augustine?” The Coordinator asks again. Always with the same bare minimum inflection — monotone and mechanical.

A deep breath. “No.”

But Nadya hesitated the first time. Innocent people don’t hesitate. Why is this making her suddenly feel _guilty_ by simple virtue of knowing about his villainous, sadistic existence?

 _Of course the Order knows who Gaius is;_ if her hands were free Nadya would facepalm for her own stupidity. _They’ve been at war with him for centuries._

The web cam jazzes things up a little with two green blinks.

“How and when did you first meet Gaius Augustine?”

If her interrogator is gonna keep catching her by surprise, Nadya has no other choice but to abandon her slow but steady escape plan. She flicks the blade closed as slowly and carefully as possible… but doing it blind makes it easier for her to nick the pad of her thumb.

_“Sss… ow…”_

“Speak up.”

 _Crap on a cracker._ “You—uh—don’t want me to say what I said louder. Trust me.” And though the helmet face stays neutral Nadya can’t help but feel like she’s being raked over in suspicion. Guilt manifesting and all that.

Another pair of green blinks. Maybe it’s her paranoia but Nadya would _swear_ they’re getting faster. Urgent; insistent even.

“What do you know of the civil unrest in New York City?”

 _Oh this is bad._ “I dunno,” then—and with all her courage, “what do you _think_ I know?”

This time she can just barely catch the faint static of the Coordinator’s comm. Just the feedback; nothing more. But something is better than nothing, right?

“Do you share a personal connection with Gaius Augustine?”

“Back to square one — are you _kidding me?”_

 _Arrgh!_ Nadya stomps her feet flat on the floor hard as she can; she’d prefer it to be louder but the Coordinator does go rigid down his spine. Attention; gotten.

_Even if it was a little tantrum-y._

“Listen here you… you… _Stay Puft Marshmallow Assassin._ In case you haven’t gotten the hint; I’ve got nothing to say to you. Ask all the questions you want — be vague and creepy and go all secret-society on my tiny human butt. Go ham! Still not gonna say a thing.

“Not until you tell me what the _ever-loving HELL you did to my best friend!”_

As Lily so often says; sometimes a little foul language gets things done. Even still Nadya waits; face flushed and nostrils flared from her sudden outburst.

The camera light turns off. As if that was his signal, the Coordinator gives the camera a wide berth and makes right for her.

“Hey—hey keep back!” Not that there’s much Nadya can do about it. “I’m warning you!”

Her voice pitches; if she leans back in her chair any farther she’ll keel over. But the soldier has his orders — and whatever they are they require the dagger hanging on his hip.

Nadya flicks the switchblade open. Makes her peace with another rapidly-incoming existential crisis covered in spilled blood.

His white leather glove tickles against her wrist as he slices her bonds in one smooth motion. 

Nadya’s shoulders snap like elastic back to where they should naturally be; the ache and soreness gripping deep down in her muscles and refusing to let go. The shuffling of the Coordinator’s boots stops behind her and out of sight — her heart almost leaps out of her throat when she realizes there’s absolutely no freakin’ way he doesn’t see the knife.

She waits… and waits… holds her breath until it’s literally like fire in her lungs and then some. But if he has thoughts on her semi-attempted escape they don’t go spoken aloud. He just… keeps going. Slices another part of the knot here, a loop there; until the rope _thwumps_ lame to the metal floor and Nadya can finally holds her hands up in all their not-chopped-off glory.

“Up.”

Behind her the officer suddenly grabs the top of her chair and yanks. _Hard._ Doesn’t even so much as flinch at the ear-piercing _SCREECH_ of metal scraping on metal as he tilts it up and back and forces Nadya out. She catches herself on her hands and knees just in time — the burning sting of scraped-off surface skin makes sure she doesn’t forget about how she ended up here.

_As if she could._

_“Up,”_ repeats the Coordinator tersely. He even goes to snatch her wrist and yank her into obedience — and learns just as quickly how _bad_ of a move that is when she uses the business end of her blade to establish good and proper social distancing.

“Hands off, I mean it.”

There’s a first time for everything apparently — finally there’s the catch of bitten-tongue frustration in his gruff voice. “Put away your blade, or the door will not open.”

Nadya hesitates… but since she didn’t know that was even on the table she—eventually—agrees.

Sure enough and just like last time; metal tumblers grinding and turning — the handle twists and the container door swings open slowly, ominously; and without anyone on the other side holding it ajar.

“Come.”

Nadya could always… _not do that._ Wherever that door leads it’s too dark compared to the humming bulb overhead. No matter how hard she squints she can’t make out more than a few moving shadows… the rest is just dark.

But what she’s risking — you know, if she _doesn’t_ — it’s too much. Though Nadya makes it a point of staying just a little farther than out-of-sword’s-reach as she tails behind.

“Where are you taking me? To Lily?” No answer. Go figure.

Almost there… when a shiver runs down her spine; like she’s taken a nice tub-full of icy cold water to the nerve endings. The hairs on the back of Nadya’s neck stand on end.

With no real understanding as to _why,_ she looks back.

The little red light glows steadily and wishes Nadya a silent farewell.

“Fine,” a huff, “can you at least tell me who’s on the other side of that camera?”

The Coordinator keeps his back turned. For a man with an entire body armor’s-worth of shielding… that says a lot.

“The High Chancellor of the Order of the Dawn.”

“Do they have a name?”

“It is of no concern to you.”

“So he doesn’t have much else to do besides drill little girls with senseless questions? Yeah… I dunno about that.” And she takes a little sweet satisfaction in letting the camera look at nothing but the blank container wall. Left behind while Nadya follows her captor out.

“Not every day the boss sits in on your interview.” _For everyone else, anyway…_

The central cooling hits like another ice age — not that the big metal box was much better but the large industrial fans blow noisily above them numbering in the dozens; double that even. Nadya wraps her arms tight around her middle and tries to breathe through it. Sea-salt and brine tickle inside her nose.

When they’re both through, the container door swings shut of its own accord behind her. But right away Nadya learns her box was just one of many. _Many-many;_ lined up in neat rows and aisles no matter which way she cranes her neck. 

They don’t look like much on the outside. Big rusty boxes, some of them with long washes of salt discoloring at water level height and others that must have once had industry markers and names stenciled in paint across the sides but now have been left to nature’s disrepair. Colors faded from long days in the sun and chips the size of Nadya’s head carved off to weather many a storm.

There’s not a doubt in her mind they all only look this way on the inside. Nadya glances over her shoulder and sure enough hers looks like it might have once belonged to a pharmaceutical company; it’s name worn off with time but not many companies preferred that many consonants in their brand names. 

A pine-green container a few units up and over opens for a trio of Order troops to leave whatever was inside behind.

The blood on their leathers is bright red and still glossy with freshness.

Not _what_ ever. _Who_ ever.

Worse still that they just stride right on by; almost leisurely in pace. None of the other clone troops — all with their expressionless helmets and golden badges of murder disguised as pride — pay the mess their boots leave behind any real mind. There are definitely more troops here than those who attacked the club… not that she was feeling optimistic about Plan ‘Cut-And-Run’ anyway.

The Coordinator raises a hand and Nadya flinches away—instinct—but it’s just to press against the comm on his helmet. “This is Coordinator to Ares Team. Is the abomination conscious? Over.”

Static crackles. This time Nadya’s close enough to hear both ends.

_“Ares Team reading sir. The abomination regained consciousness three minutes ago. Over.”_

She can’t help it. Nadya chokes a small sob of relief; thankfully it goes ignored.

“Is it contained?”

_“As per protocol sir. But I should warn you — normal methods may not last the ride back to base.”_

“Noted. Bring it to my coordinates.”

For a long moment there’s only static to answer. When the troop on the other end finally replies not even the bad signal can hide the concern heavy in her voice.

_“… I don’t think that’s wise, sir.”_

The Coordinator growls. “Did I ask you to _think,_ or _follow orders?”_

_“Coordinator, sir, until Ops comes back with the blood tests —”_

“This isn’t a negotiation, Ares Team!” He shouts, keeps shouting; loud enough to make Nadya flinch and turn more than a few nearby heads. “This isn’t my directive; but that of the High Chancellor himself. Disobeying a direct order from your Coordinator is severe enough… you should not have to be given _reason_ to do as you’re told.”

Just like that — Nadya watches every curiously tilted head snap back to their work. That’s the kind of power this _High Chancellor_ of theirs has, and it’s giving her some serious _Vampire King_ -vibes.

A clipped _“Transporting the asset now, Coordinator sir—over,”_ breaks through the static before the channel goes dead.

Though she’s cold and tired and her wrists itch from rope burn, Nadya’s not clueless. She’s improvised her way out of capture and from the sound of it the same idea has Lily coming to _her_ rather than the other way around. By that logic there may be some cosmically-impossible loophole left that could get the two of them out of this terrordome shipping-cargo jail at the very least.

 _Whoa there now… there’s_ optimism _and then there’s just being unrealistic._

It feels like ages that she stands there waiting. No use in looking around really — everything from the boxes to the troops themselves is all the same shade of uniform neutrality.

Eventually a literal armed guard marches into view. They flank a large metal cage atop a flatbed with their crossbows at the ready. The wheels beneath groan long and high-pitched the whole journey up.

 _A cage._ They have her in a _cage._ The sight makes Nadya sick, makes her want to turn to the Coordinator and shove her boot right where the sun don’t shine.

But the only thought that keeps her still is simple. Whatever acts of violence Nadya may dream up are _nothing_ compared to what Lily will do to them as payback.

Something acrid and smoky makes her nose twinge and her stomach roll. It brings up memories, hazy and just beneath the surface. Nadya’s own for once — accompanied by ancient and rotted wood and the hissing, primal screams of Ferals lurking just beyond the flames.

_It’s burning flesh._

Sure enough when the cart stops she sees it. Her wine from earlier gets dangerously close to coming back up.

Lily’s wrists are literally smoking. Little greyish wisps that start at the clunky metal cuff binding her wrists in her lap and in plain view. A pale purpling glow illuminates a ring around her skin; _some kind of UV light,_ Nadya realizes, and swallows down a dry heave with the back of her hand.

“You…” voice wavering, “you _monsters.”_

Damn the Coordinator and the Order and their Chancellor and _damn the consequences_ — Nadya breaks out in a run down the rest of the aisle. Only the desperate thought of _I have to help her_ pushing her forward.

The procession stops immediately. Six crossbows turning away from Lily… and pointing right at her.

Nadya skids to a halt so fast she nearly falls on her face.

 _“Not one step further.”_ One of the troops sneers. They don’t see Nadya as a person; not human like themselves. The malice in their voice has her more than certain of that.

_“Restrain her.”_

One of the two members pushing the cage from the back gestures with a stiff hand — silent orders to a nearby onlooker to draw a long metal rod from their belt and make right for her.

They flick a switch on the grip and the tip crackles to life with the same UV light and a steady electrical hum.

“Cease and disregard.”

Nadya doesn’t dare look anywhere other than Lily’s lowered face. Not even when the Coordinator’s voice rings out clear and commanding behind her. Right where she’d left him.

The troop hesitates… before discharging the baton to return it to their belt. “Coordinator, sir.”

Letting out a shaky breath— _not relief, not yet, relief is for safety and they are far from that too_ —Nadya sprints the rest of the distance. 

“Lily—” she chokes; collides with her arms outstretched against the cage hard enough to hurt. The tightly-woven chain links dig into her palms. She couldn’t care less.

She’s barely clinging to consciousness; sagging shoulders and seemingly sinking lower with every passing second. They have Lily propped forward on her knees but she’s wavering. A light breeze could send her keeling forward into collapse.

All that and Lily still rouses to life at the sound of Nadya’s voice. Shifts with her locs swaying in front of her face until she finds the strength to raise her head and look everyone on the other side of her prison in the eye.

The crossbows snap back to their original target. Tension rippling out through every beating heart; all other work and conversation is forced to a halt.

And this close… Nadya can see why.

Her eyes are bright; blood-red and aware and it’s just like every other time Nadya’s seen her face go all _True Blood_ but it’s also… different. In a way she can’t shake. All the way down to her bones. Greer had spent probably more time than needed on her makeup — _“her debut as a new and better her”_ he’d called it — only for it to be smeared across one cheekbone and parted like a glittery canyon by tears long-dried over the other.

Someone’s blood — more than one someone even — flakes where it dried on her chin, around her mouth. On her peeling lips that tremble so fragile; so _human._

But there’s nothing _human_ about her fangs.

Both pairs.

There’s a sympathy pain sharp and deep and enough to make Nadya reach up and ghost her fingertips over her side. Where the crypt-Feral had bit her— _gouged her_ —forgotten in all but the mind; the body long-healed by virtue of Cynbel’s old blood. But the feeling of every sharp tooth jagged in the creature’s mouth would stay with her for the rest of her life.

Lily’s fangs don’t look like _that._ Thank god, too, if they did…

But they’re longer than they should be. Longer than Adrian’s; than Kamilah’s. Even longer than she vaguely remembers Rheya’s had been. And where one pair is too long the other is too short; like someone had taken a metal file to the next set in and mutilated her in caricature.

A soft and pained noise slips from Nadya’s lips. Lily swallows around the echo of it; the action moving down the column of her throat and drawing attention to the toughened patch of skin at the collarbone. _That’s okay, that was there before,_ Nadya’s brain tries to rationalize, but she doesn’t remember it being that big… _or that grey._

“Please Nadi’… don’t look at me that way.”

By the time their eyes meet again sharp red has faded — giving way to soft brown and wavering tears. She’s breaking Lily’s heart. More than she already has.

 _I did this to you,_ she wants to scream, _don’t be sad, be angry. Please be angry._

But she doesn’t; she _won’t._ They’re both better than that. They’re Lily-and-Nadya, always have been and always will be. And that’s _better._

Nadya presses her forehead against the metal barrier hard enough to dent and bruise. Lily shuffles — has to drag her knees forward and against the awful _chains_ rooting her to the floor — and does the same.

 _“I’m gonna get us out of here.”_ She whispers; and she’s never been so glad for regular old crappy human hearing.

Lily wheezes a laugh.

_“I’ll believe it when I see it, dumbass.”_

But there’s a shine new in those eyes and this time not from tears. After all, the best way to get Nadya to do something is to tell her she couldn’t, shouldn’t, or won’t.

 _Her Lily_ knows that better than anyone.

 _“Away from the abomination!”_ Then a sharp pain—real, not in her head—jabs at Nadya’s side. She recoils from the business end of the troop’s crossbow… and the cage too.

It’s with a staggering inner strength that Lily gathers herself, pain and chains and all, and sneers out at their captors.

“You know, I gotta say… you guys really know how to disappoint a gal.” Laughing through the croak in her voice; “I was expecting patchwork leather, wide-brim hats, duffel bags of weapons… even a fanny pack of stakes or something.

“Hasn’t anybody ever told you guys to lean into the cliche?”

A level of goading even Nadya’s impressed with — given her current condition. But it’s not enough to warrant a verbal response. Though she definitely catches a few fingers itching towards their triggers.

Lily scoffs, mock offended.

“Jeez. Tough crowd.”

The Coordinator raises two fingers and his troops take the signal to back off. Of Nadya, anyway. He steps forward one—two—three strides until it’s like they’re back in her container-jail all over again. The same distance between them; like the camera still hovers in the middle.

“Do you share a personal connection with Gaius Augustine?”

 _Great. This again._ Nadya wants to bite her tongue but now realizes, probably a little too late, that even though they _technically_ gave her what she wanted, she’s in even less of a position to bargain or bullcrap their way out of this.

There are a _lot_ of sharp wooden objects pointed at Lily’s chest.

So she takes a steady breath and nods.

“Yes.”

Metal chains rattle behind her. Lily moves herself as close as she can get to the edge of her cage. “Uh… the fuck?” she asks, but Nadya just holds up a shaky hand as if to say _I got this._

She does not, in fact, got this.

“How and when did you first meet him?”

“What are you going to do to us?”

 _“How and when did you first meet him?”_ He repeats, as if she hadn’t answered at all. Still faceless but now she’s gotten used to listening, not looking. And from the sound of it there’s not much patience left for her to try.

“I don’t—a year ago— _ish_ —I think.” The squeak of his leather gloves squeezing into a fist makes Nadya flinch. “I don’t know exactly! I swear!” _Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had my calendar?_

“A—A year, give or take. Swear on my life. Even if I didn’t know it was him right away.”

A beat. “Explain.”

“Well we didn’t exactly have _name tags._ He was in my head; in my thoughts.”

All around them the Order has ceased their operations. Silence, impatience; pressuring Nadya to keep talking herself (and Lily) into a hole in the ground.

Something catches her ear. Nadya tilts her head, ears straining — and just when she thinks she must have imagined it the universe takes pity and proves her wrong.

The faint crackle of static. Signaling the end of a comm transmission.

Nadya’s stomach fills with butterflies; evil, Zinfandel-colored butterflies.

 _They don’t need a camera,_ she realizes, _she’s still being watched._ Interrogated-by-proxy, even.

“You believe you were contacted psychically by the vampire Gaius Augustine. Confirm, or deny.”

 _Oooh boy_ does she have a bad feeling about this.

“Confirm.”

“Have you been informed, in any capacity, why such a connection was forged?”

“No.”

“Is there any history of psychic prominence in your ancestry that could suggest motive?”

“You mean like—my mom?” Then Nadya’s shaking her head so hard her glasses nearly fly off. “No. No way. Leave her out of this. I was adopted so she’s not my blood so you _leave her out of this.”_

Behind her a soft little noise slips from Lily’s pursed lips. _Yeah, probably too much information on the literal,_ Nadya knows — for once she and the rude voice in her head agree on something.

But this is her _mom._ The mom she’s managed to keep out of this so far. Who she intends to keep out of this for as long as possible — forever, ideally. And these guys are… _intense._ With their tactical raids and military-adjacent operations and the fact that they slaughtered _so many people_ in the club whether they turned to ash or bled out on the floor.

So Nadya’s panic is more than a little justified.

The Coordinator’s struck a nerve. Worse still, he knows it. That’s obvious enough by the fact he sounds almost _haughty_ when he moves on. And he does move on… a little too quickly for Nadya to think her outburst goes without notice.

“What do you know of the vampire Gaius Augustine’s plans?”

“How ‘come that dick is _‘the vampire’_ and I’m chopped liver?” Lily quips; an act to buy Nadya time.

Not enough.

_“What do you know of the vampire Gaius Augustine’s plans?”_

Sweat beads on Nadya’s upper lip. Her brain working overtime on overdrive to overcompensate for the fact that she’s running out of stalling tactics and _still_ no rescue; self-imposed or otherwise.

The Coordinator’s comm crackles again. “Yes, sir,” he says lowly, “I understand sir.” But not low enough.

“Who wants to know?”

Silence.

“What do you kn—”

“I heard you the first two times,” interrupting without an ounce of shame, “and you can ask again, and a fourth time too. But I won’t answer. Not without getting a few answers of my own.”

Her words ring with spontaneous confidence; not unlike a last burst of adrenaline. And like adrenaline it fades just as quickly. _Was it enough?_

The Coordinator steps forward without a peep. Crosses the divide in one final stride and looms over her tall enough for his helmet to obscure one of the distant overhead lights. Casting her in his literal shadow.

“You are in no position to bargain.”

 _Gulp._ “I dunno, it seems like I might be.”

He dips his head; lowers his voice. Sounds a lot like for the first time since this all started he might be going off-script. “Then let me give you certainty. You. are. not. Regardless of your cooperation, this will end one way and one way alone.”

It’s impressive — how the Coordinator manages to take his threat and leave it hanging in what little space between them there is. But man… between this guy and all the _other_ people who’ve similarly or less-subtly threatened her life recently it’s starting to really give Nadya a complex.

At least it’s one that works in her favor.

Nadya gathers herself up — possibly a little too much, possibly on the tip of her toes — and stares him down. Sure she’s only glaring at her reflection over his eyepiece but underneath that there _is_ a man, and he _has_ a face, and it is probably very _dumb looking._

“On the scale of threats I’ve gotten these last few weeks, that’s a solid two, _sir._ You may make the most noise but that doesn’t mean you’re the scariest thing to ever get up in my face. Now—if your fancy absentee boss man knows enough to make you ask some _really specific_ things then I’ll bet he’s got an idea of just what Gaius _is_ planning. I’d just be giving him the gory details.

“If that’s gonna end in one of your goons killing me anyway? Well, then I’d rather go out petty as all hell and without telling you a _thing._ Because I’ll be dead, right,” she shrugs; adding insult to injury, “so I won’t have to deal with every bad thing that’s gonna happen anyway, no matter what I do or don’t tell you.

“And I can live with that. ‘Cause it won’t be for long.”

Nadya waits then, breathing heavy and a little bit loud and feeling the flush of _yeah, what now huh?_ red in her cheeks. Only it doesn’t last for long. Not when the tension seems to leave the Coordinator’s shoulders. He’s supposed to be feeling intimidated, not at ease!

“You should learn not to show your hand so early, girl.”

He leans forward, hands clasped behind his back. Makes Nadya fall from her soapbox on her toes and doesn’t waste any time filling up the space left behind. Thankfully(?) the cage is ready to catch her should she fall back… but that’s not exactly the greatest safety net now is it.

Like this, Nadya can almost feel the ghost of his breath, warm against the thick mesh over his mouthpiece.

_“If you think the worst that can be done is killing you, then you aren’t as worldly as you believe.”_

Before she can protest, argue, even so much as get a freakin’ word in he snaps back to attention; spine like a rod and reminding her of a viper rearing before the strike.

“Prepare the transport fleet. I want this place hollowed out by 0300.” All around them the troops—their audience—resume their duties. A well-oiled machine always ready, always prepared. Like they hadn’t all been on the edge of their boots waiting for what came next.

Their watching commander gives a small _“hmmph”_ of satisfaction. But he’s not finished giving orders. “Keep the abomination and the girl in the same containment unit.” And when the mask looks back her way Nadya knows the only thing it hides is pure and bitter disgust.

“It will need something to sustain itself on the journey back to base.”

Her blood runs cold.

 _Bang!_ The tinny clang of metal against metal — then a fresh wave of smoke fills her nose and makes her dizzy. Nadya whirls around just in time to jump back as Lily slams her cuffed hands against the cage wall.

“Don’t you dare,” she snarls, “don’t you _dare!”_

A bead of sweat tickles Nadya’s temple. “I-It’s okay Lil’, it’s —” _I’d rather be with you than literally anywhere else._

But she doesn’t get the chance to share the sentiment because there’s a little too much anger in the growl of Lily’s voice — a little too much fear in her too-human eyes.

_She’s scared. Why?_

The Coordinator’s hand falls harsh down on Nadya’s shoulder and stops her in her tracks. She looks down at her own feet in surprise; hadn’t even realized she was about to take a _big_ step back.

“Such fear!” He barks a laugh. “And for what reason, I wonder!”

Something low rumbles in the young vampire’s chest. Her eyes flicker red with danger.

_“You know why, you bastard.”_

“Of course I do. Because your _control_ is an illusion, _beast._ But since your prolonged _meal_ here seems intent on believing your fanged lies, it only seems fit that you should be the one to show her the light where we cannot.”

Another wave of smoke and the thick smell of charcoal comes as Lily struggles against the UV lights. The pain must be blinding, blistering the skin of her wrists over and over. But that doesn’t stop her for a second.

“When I get out of here…”

“Lily—” Pain flashes across her best friend’s face and for good reason. Nadya can’t control the wavering fear in her throat. But it’s not for the reasons she thinks. “—It’ll be okay. You won’t hurt me.”

_Unlike the jackass seemingly attempting to push her down and on her knees._

“You there, technician. Open this.”

When the Coordinator gestures to them, one of the troops steps forward with a tablet in hand. Nadya catches glimpses of a nearly-blank screen constantly updating with new rows of text too small for her to read. Some kind of running program, if her endless nights watching Lily and her laptop are anything to go by.

A few swift commands are typed in one-handed. The technician steps back to give the cage door a wide berth and the others follow their example — Nadya winces when, rather than asking politely like any decent person, she is manhandled back to join them.

 _“Back, creature!”_ Two of the crossbow-wielding troops jam the sharp tips of their bolts right through the grating and into Lily’s arm and thigh. They yank the wood out of her flesh like giant evil splinters.

One braces to do it again but stops just short when Lily raises her bound hands in front of her on defensive instinct. “I get it, I get it—I’m backing!” And she does, albeit begrudgingly and in obvious pain.

They corral her into a corner of the cage. Keep their weapons much closer than necessary too. When the tech is certain Lily won’t—or can’t—risk escape, they weave the links through their fingers and pull.

The door swings outward way slowly and with a long _groooooan._ Obviously the thing is heavier than it looks.

“How blindly you follow the evils of the world, little girl. I suppose there is consolation that precious resources weren’t wasted on you. The light could never have cleansed your soul.”

There’s only a few ways this could go and all the ones that don’t involve Nadya just shutting up and accepting her fate in the cage are pretty ugly. And at this point anything to keep this creep’s hands _off of her_ is welcome. Even if it’s hearing the cage door shut behind her and feeling a deep, aching sense of dread.

Like… worse than the one she’s already had her fill of. This is dessert dread.

They wait until the entire flatbed and the pair of them on top of it are wheeled back into the container from which they had come. There’s no camera in this one much to Nadya’s relief, so when the door closes behind the Coordinator’s haughty striding cape-wearing jerkishness the first thing she does is scramble to pull Lily into her arms.

Lily tries to reciprocate, but the awkward angle of the cuffs doesn’t leave much room for arms-spread-wide reunions. “Sorry…”

But Nadya won’t hear any of it. She pecks Lily’s temple then pulls back to give the restraints a more thorough looking-over. “Yeah, because I’m totally gonna blame _you_ for being treated like some kinda Frankenstein’s monster.”

“Actually the monster was super chill.”

“That’s what you want to get into right now?”

“… Carry on.”

Unfortunately even if she was the tech-savvy kind of person (which she isn’t but points for trying) who knew what the wires and bits underneath a flap-panel between Lily’s wrists meant, Nadya’s pretty sure there would still be nothing she could do.

“Yeah, I think that was my face too,” Lily says, and makes Nadya realize she’s looking as confused as she feels, “and I know my way around a circuit-board. But this tech is seriously —” a blister pops and she hisses, _“— seriously ouch.”_

There wasn’t anything future-tech about her interrogation, but Nadya mentions it anyway… just in case. “From the way that Coordinator made one guy nearly faint, I think the ‘High Chancellor’ might be at the top of the chain, or really close. What I just can’t get is how they set it all up so fast. How they set up… _everything_ so fast.”

Her neck still aches from craning so far back.

“Yeah… we’re deeper than Deep Throat in this shit.”

“Solid use for an X-Files reference, five stars.”

Lily shrugs, but just as Nadya had assumed the humor has helped. Even if just a little.

“But in all realness. Why’d they capture you and not everybody else?” She pales. “Shit— _did_ they get everyone else? They all acted like I was furniture until the parade. Couldn’t get one to say a peep.”

 _Uh… awkward._ “I don’t know what happened to the guys. But you were unconscious and they were calling a retreat and—and I shouted and shouted but no one was coming to help so I just…”

“Did your usual act-first-suffer-later deal?”

Nothing for Nadya to do at that but nod. “Me to a ‘T.’”

Only now she can’t stop thinking about Jax and Adrian, and Greer and Brandon, and even Cadence and Serafine who were — last she knew — bound and determined to lead Antony away from them by way of the Order’s unofficial _‘territory.’_

“Well, thanks for not, y’know, letting them take me without at least trying.” Lily props herself up against one of the walls and Nadya slips in close beside her. Probably not the best idea, since Lily is room-temperature and the temperature of the room is _Polar Bear VIP Lounge,_ but just try and stop her.

It’s as if the Order had been so politely waiting for the girls to make themselves comfortable. Just when Nadya finds a position where her ankles aren’t digging into the metal floor _too_ harshly the container _JERKS_ — hard enough to send them sprawling, grasping for each other, afraid the world is going to tilt at an angle hard enough to send them toppling over the edge.

“Holyshit—grabon!” Lily catches her wrist at the last possible second. Digs her nails in hard enough to scrape skin but not hard enough to break it. Nadya fumbles until she finds something solid enough to hold onto — and hates herself a little when she sees it’s the cuffs.

“Shit—Lil’—”

“It’sallgood—” _no it isn’t,_ “—justhangtight!”

The scraping of metal on metal howls like a banshee in their ears. The cage shifts dangerously, the container wall moving closer… closer…

Then a _BANG—THUD_ —and a few other noises Nadya’s ears can only describe as a keyboard smash digging needles into her eardrums. Until finally everything is still.

They press themselves together — the space hasn’t changed but somehow it just feels safer this way. Lily tilts her head to try and catch any sound outside their walls while Nadya works to swallow her heart back down from where it leapt into her throat.

“What…” — _breathe_ — “…the hell…” — _gulp, gasp_ — “…was _that?!”_

Lily opens her mouth to speak. The loud roar of a diesel engine comes out instead.

“We’re on a truck, aren’t we.”

“Gee,” though vampire’s usual sarcasm is half-hearted at best, “what gave you _that idea?”_

 _Prepare the transport fleet._ For some reason Nadya had been under the impression his command had something to do with _boats._ Probably every clue her senses were trying to throw at her. But nope. They were… on a truck. In a cage, on a truck.

In a cage, on a truck, heading away from London. Like right now.

Thank god she’s bad at math because calculating the odds of their escape would probably have dashed the last wisps of blind faith she had left.

They rumble on in mutual silence. The weight of their circumstances — and just how bad things are starting to look — settling in around them heavy and hard.

Then, after who knows how long, Lily’s voice cuts through the quiet. 

“Thanks for trying, too.”

Nadya pulls back with a questioning frown. Her smile is a little too wistful; too resigned. “With everything, I mean. The bite and stuff. I know I said it earlier. But full disclosure I don’t think I really meant it then.”

“Of course you meant it.”

“No, Nadya. I really didn’t.”

It’s so strange to hear her whole first name in Lily’s voice. A strangeness usually only reserved for arguments or threats as to the location of the controller even though there’s cleaning to do.

Honestly? She doesn’t like it.

She must mistake Nadya’s discomfort for disbelief; Lily leans her head back against the grating and closes her eyes.

“I know you were just trying to save my life and all — which I appreciate — but when are you gonna stop and start thinking about the actual consequences to your endearingly dumb actions?”

Which has her hesitating… but the silence just stretches on and on. This isn’t a rhetorical question.

“I was,” which is lame; she hears her own lameness, “that’s why I—why I was so determined to get you back. And before you say it again _yes,_ even though I knew it might kill me.”

“Okay. And at what point did you sit down and pro-con list out what I’d become if it all worked out?”

Nadya frowns. “If everything worked out you wouldn’t have to ask that.”

“But I do anyway — don’t you see?”

“I see my best friend.” Resting her hand on Lily’s upper arm; the tension coiled beneath the surface is startling to say the least. “Alive—not the time for semantics—and not foaming at the mouth. Sure there might still be, I dunno, healing to do or something but —”

“God damn, Nadya, you’re not this stupid!”

Lily wrenches herself away hard and fast and without giving her time to support her own weight. Nadya keels forward face-first; tilts her head at the last second because this is her last pair of backup glasses but the alternative is just as painful.

Her chin slams into the metal floor. There’s a _crunch_ in her inner ear and a familiar taste follows the sharp pain inside her lower lip.

But hey, no biggie, Nadya’s bitten her lip plenty of times. Only when she opens her mouth to keep talking Lily practically flies back in midair. Presses herself as hard as she can against the opposite wall in a desperate act to put as much space between them as possible.

_A bit dramatic, maybe?_

“Look at me, Al Jamil. Just stop feeling _sorry_ for one goddamn second and _look.”_

_… Maybe not._

They’re farther apart than they had been before, but there’s something different about being on the other side of the proverbial looking glass. Seeing the dark and the hunger in her eyes; fangs part one and part two are too long to be covered up no matter how badly Lily tries. The steady blackness in her blood shining stark against the translucent, Feral-esque part of her clavicle.

“Hon… This is it. My final form. There’s no more _healing._ No more seeing me and asking _who_ without asking _what,_ too. Only we’ve got no idea what to call whatever the hell I am now, do we? And I’ll die before I let _‘Abomination’_ stick.”

“We’ll fig—”

“There’s nothing to figure out.”

“How would you know?” Nadya’s challenge surprises even herself. She stands on two wobbling feet and swallows down the last taste of her own blood. “Come on Lil’ tell me; _how would you know?”_

And she just… shrugs.

“Because I just do. My body, my blood, my… all the other weird shit. It’s _me_ now. I can feel it.”

It’s the resignation that gets Nadya where it hurts. How Lily’s so used to things just… happening to her by now. And most of them are definitely Nadya’s own fault.

“You don’t even wanna try?”

“Not when there’s more important things to do. You know, like…” But she trails off into nothing. Looks around instead — the camera-talk must have made her paranoid. Nadya doesn’t blame her.

“Like the Main Quest.” _Wink._

 _Mad at me and still winking._ At least she doesn’t have to question the legitimacy of her Lily anymore. She rolls her eyes with playful exasperation. “You know I always preferred the companion quests. It’s why you refuse to let me play open-worlds anymore.”

“And I stand by that decision now more than ever.” Slowly the young vampire peels herself from the wall and eases back into their familiar range of zero-personal-space. Only when her fangs have receded; when the pupils are round and wide.

“Doesn’t mean we can ignore it though. Especially not with home…”

She can’t say it. Boy is that relatable. “I mean I was under the impression we were trapped in a cage going from a spooky horror warehouse to our inevitable doom, myself. But any time you wanna bust us out of here go right on ahead.”

Totally worth Lily’s dose of double middle fingers.

“I could pull a _you_ and believe our asses will always get saved at the last minute.”

“Ah now see if it was truly a _me_ you’d not be thinking that at all. I’m always at least ninety percent certain I’m screwed.”

Together they sit back down; fingers woven together in hands that won’t let go no matter what the Order does… will do… is doing. The rumbling continues on and fills the void of conversation, but neither of them really mind. There’s a peace to it — the kind that makes midnight car rides ideal places to dream.

Or midnight long-haul truck rides, in this case.

Nadya closes her eyes. _Not to sleep,_ she chides herself, _just to rest._

_Don’t fall asleep._

_Don’t… fall… asleep._

_Don’t… fa..all…as…lee…_

The bone-white Tree towers over her. Tall as a skyscraper and reaching up to a heaven it will never touch.

Branches like limbs beckoning. Twigs like curling fingers urging her to come closer — to touch and feel the gifts it has to offer.

She reaches out with a trembling hand. Starvation rotting in her gut; eating her from the inside out. Cold buried all the way in her bones, so deep she’ll never claw it out enough to feel the warmth of the sun again.

But the Tree offers something better. Not warmth, but life. Something _more_ than life.

Something like eternity.

In one last desperate push, her last breath wheezing like dust in her lungs — she gathers the last of her waning strength in a swirling cloud of anger—hatred— _vengeance_ on the monsters that sought to keep her here in the dirt.

_I will not stay buried. Rooted to the earth… I will rise._

She buries her fingernails into the tree’s ghostly bark. It yields soft like flesh.

Underneath her touch the Tree begins to bleed.

_“NADYA!”_

She opens her eyes just in time to collide face-first into the cage wall. The metal bites at her skin like dozens of little teeth.

Nadya keeps her eyes closed tight. Tighter still when her body tries to rouse itself from that meager attempt at sleep. Anything— _anything_ —to cling to the last vestiges of the dream before it’s gone.

And… nope.

It’s gone.

There’s a hand on her shoulder — Lily gently turns her over and onto her back. Checks for bruises and cuts and shattered pieces like she’s made of glass. Honestly she kind of feels made of glass right now.

“Jee—z—” Nadya coughs and wheezes while her lungs remember how to function, “— an alarm clock would— _guh_ —work just fine…”

Which earns her a light slap to the shoulder, fair. “Not with your snoring ass.”

Lily both gives her space to sit up and hovers close just in case. Luckily nothing hurts now that wasn’t hurting already… which says a lot about the state of Nadya’s _luck_ these days.

She finally shakes off the fog in her head just in time to see a blurry pair of cuffed hands offering out her glasses. Nadya takes them gratefully.

“Whaaat happened?”

Lily doesn’t answer. When her head and sight finally clears, she finds a pair of red eyes fixated at her.

No… just over her shoulder.

Nadya braces herself on flat palms and turns… but there’s nothing there. Just the cage grating, and the container beyond, and the doors still shut tight. Everything around them soundless… tense… _waiting._

It takes her a long couple of seconds but eventually she realizes why the stillness is so discomforting.

_They’ve stopped._

Her heart skips a beat. The sound doesn’t go unheard by Lily’s supernatural hearing. She nods. “Yeah.”

“Any idea…?”

“Not a clue.”

_THUNK._

Nadya claps her hands over her mouth just in time to stop her own scream. Snaps her head back and up so hard something might pull in her neck but that’s a totally valid reaction to _something landing on the container roof, thank you very much!_

_THUNK. THUN-UNK._

Several more somethings by the sound of it.

“There’s no way we’re… hh-here already, right?” She hisses between clenched teeth. Lily jabs a finger over her mouth in a silent command. Cranes her head to the side as she strains to hear beyond their prison.

But you don’t need vampire senses to catch the wailing _screaming_ coming from the other side.

Screams… muffled shouts that could be—might be words… concentrated _bangs_ around them that Nadya would bet her life on as coming from Order-issue crossbow bolts with wooden tips not strong enough to pierce the metal exterior.

She and Lily lock eyes in the dark.

_What the fuck is going on?_

_I have night vision, not x-ray vision._

And it’s deeply, like _deeply_ unsettling that as soon as all the raucous started… it just _stops._ No screams, no nothing. Just the howl of a strong wind.

 _BANG!_ Something sharp and heavy bashes against the far wall — the one with the door.

Silence… then—

 _BANG!_ Another collision; this time followed by the now-familiar sound of steel-on-steel.

Their eyes widen; the realization hitting them at the same time.

_Someone is ripping the door from its hinges._

“Up—upupup now!” Lily hauls them to their feet before tugging Nadya right alongside to press themselves as far back as they can go. A logical reaction… and Nadya doesn’t dare let herself hope. Since there are a number of people capable of something like this — some friendly and some very much _not._ Because honestly when has anything gone right of late? The _last_ thing they need is someone like _Isseya_ or _Marc Antony_ yanking off the door and finding them like a prize insi—

One last groan and the door yields. Half of the back wall ripped off like it’s made of tin foil and hurled off into the night beyond.

Three figures cloaked in shadow climb up and into their cozy lodgings. And here she is unable to offer a snack or a drink.

_“They’re in here!”_

This time Nadya chokes out a sob and doesn’t stop it one bit. She _knows_ that voice, she’s never been so happy to hear that voice in her entire life, and that includes the Tech-Expo dinner where some guy had gotten a little _too cozy_ with Nadya by the shrimp buffet if you catch her drift.

One of the figures to the left summons a ball of fire — no… they turn on a flashlight. Same difference to Nadya’s light-starved eyes. She winces and recoils to give them time to adjust.

Adrian reaches them first. Red eyes and blood staining just about every visible inch of his shirt and jacket but he’s _there,_ he’s _alive,_ and the relief Nadya sees when they catch sight of one another is enough to make her feel weak in the knees.

He reaches… and falls just short when there’s nothing to grab onto. “What…?”

A voice comes from behind the flashlight beam. _“Looks mechanized. I think I saw a tablet up in the driver’s cabin, hold on.”_

Either she’s hearing things, or…

_“Cade?”_

The beam jostles and moves, and sure enough she catches the familiar angle of his jaw as the flashlight changes hands. “Why the tone of surprise? Unless — were you on Jax’s side of the bet?” He laughs. “No, Serafine didn’t kill me. Don’t look so disappointed.”

“There was —” a gasped laugh, “— a bet?”

Lily interrupts before he can answer. “Get the tablet, I can walk you through the commands.”

“On it.”

Cadence hands off the light to the third body and becomes nothing more than a silhouette; one that jumps back down to go search for the technician’s tablet.

“Just hold on, okay,” Adrian takes a knee; laces his fingers through the grating and squeezes so hard his bloodied knuckles go white, “just… _god_ you have no idea how worried we were.”

_We?_

Before either of them can ask Adrian waves their third companion forward. The light grazes her line of sight; Nadya squints until they set it gently on the container floor and let it diffuse enough to bring everyone into view.

Long fingers join Adrian’s and thread through the chain-like wall. A silent smile, achingly familiar, catches the light.

_No fucking way._

“Kamilah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to holiday season at work I've had to take a bit of a breather this last week from writing -- and I miss it so much! Which I'm _glad_ for because it means when I get going tomorrow on my first day off in like a week I have a ton of ideas I get to work on! I know things seem a bit disjointed now but fear not they are all coming together! And _yay Kamilah is back!_ As always comments and critique are adored, thank you all so much for reading!


	5. The Long Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freed from the Order's clutches, reuniting with Kamilah after all this time isn't at all like Nadya had imagined it would be. But they all have some catching up to do... And what Kamilah has to say will change everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warnings** : language, canon-typical violence, blood

Did anyone else know Kamilah had an entire building as offices set up in pretty much every major city, or was she supposed to just… like… find this out on her own?  


Walking through the doorway into a near-exact replica of the woman’s New York penthouse _should_ feel like a relief. Between the practically-identical furniture and layout to the fact that Nadya’s pretty sure she hasn’t let go of _some_ part of Kamilah since they had managed to get that awful cage open; she’d even go so far as to say it should feel like _home._

But it doesn’t.

And even though she over-thinks every possible reason until her head hurts, Nadya just can’t figure out _why._

“You’re _sure_ they’re okay?” She asks again; not because something might have changed in the five minutes since she last pressed about how Brandon and Greer had gotten out of the Order’s raid alive, but because the repetition helps make it feel a little more real.

Only Jax has clearly reached his limit on the matter. “For the last time, _yes_. A few cuts and bruises but surprisingly they held their own. I keep telling you I got them out myself but since you refuse to believe me…”

“No no,” hastily, swallowing around her dry mouth, “I do. I just…”

“Blame yourself?” 

And it’s clear from even the tiniest glance that’s not a weight she’s carrying alone. Not saying that makes it easier, but…

A familiar touch brushes through her hair and Nadya leans into it on instinct. Kamilah’s fingertips tickle the spot underneath her ear and the tension just sort of… oozes out of her shoulders. “I’ve arranged for their recovery in a safe place. One that cannot be connected to any of us, and free of our kind entirely.”

There’s a knowing glint in her eye when Nadya finally looks up. _Thank god,_ if she could cry any more she just might, _that means Gerard made it out okay._

They haven’t even sat down and already Adrian is ducking out onto the balcony, new burner phone already pressed to his ear and a familiar worry etched into his frown. 

“I guess Serafine was friends with the owner of the club where you were…” Cadence doesn’t say the words _‘attacked,’ ‘kidnapped,’_ or any variation thereof for which Nadya is immensely grateful. “So when we had a solid lead on where you two had been taken, Adrian all but insisted she stay behind and help see to the injured.”

She’s almost hesitant to ask. “How _did_ you find us, anyway?”

After all, the ride back to central London had been _long_. Well… long for a starving vampire and an exhausted human anyway. The Order had gotten them at least an hour out before the rescue team had swooped in and saved the night.

Her question is met with a long pause. Any other time Nadya might have guessed he was just gearing up for one of his long-winded explanations of this tracking method or that mysterious contact in the shadows. Not this time though. 

Not when he pauses mid-step and knocks his shin into the dark-stained wooden corner of the coffee table.

She tries to meet his eyes but something off near the kitchen is far more important. Nadya glances over her shoulder to the sight of Kamilah in the doorway, frozen like a statue with an expression just as stony. 

She catches the faintest shake of the woman’s head right before Cadence plasters on a smile a little too wide to be sincere.

“That doesn’t matter now. You’re safe, so best not to dwell.”

“Bullshit.” mutters Lily beside her, and Nadya reaches up to pet her head on her shoulder in solidarity.

There are definitely more questions to ask. 

Questions like _where the hell did Kamilah come from?_

Or _weren’t Cade and Serafine supposed to be leading their hunters on a false trail towards literally anywhere else?_

And, possibly the most dire of them all, _how close are those same hunters now that we’re all in a pretty conspicuous not-so-safe house?_

All of them good questions, objectively. But they will have to wait.

Kamilah returns from the kitchen bearing a sterling silver serving tray. Steam and the familiar scent of Gerard’s favorite herbal tea tickles at the tip of her nose; she’s grabbing for it before the tray even meets the table. 

Beside the cup and saucer is a blood bag, and not for the first time does Nadya find herself wondering _why_ they didn’t think to hide out here sooner.

You’d think with the scabbing skin still slightly smoky around her wrists and the clear bags under her eyes that Lily would dive into the offered meal like it’s Taco Tuesday… which is something Nadya will now never be able to unsee, which is awesome. She doesn’t though. 

Doesn’t even reach for it. Just stares at the thick plastic and how it catches the light overhead silent and transfixed.

And Lily’s not the only one.

Across from them Kamilah sits, rigid and alert. Jax grasps the back of an armchair with white knuckles and a set jaw. Even Cadence bites at his thumb nail with nerves he’s probably not even conscious of.

Nadya sets her teacup down to quell the sudden tremor in her grip.

It’s obvious from the sweat on her upper lip and the slits that were her pupils that Lily _needs_ this. 

What she _doesn’t_ need is the pressure.

“Am I supposed to be waiting for Raines to nab a seat for the show?” She bites out, fangs clenched together. She’s making a conscious effort to keep her lips over her top row of teeth which muddles her words a bit. 

Unfortunately nobody seems to get the hint to back off but Cadence, who silently decides to go join Adrian instead… with the balcony door closed _firmly_ behind him.

Kamilah and Jax exchange a long look. No words; just quirked eyebrows and Kamilah’s inclined head. 

Jax takes his cue and comes around to sit, elbows on his knees and every inch of the ‘stern parental figure’ look resolute on his weary face.

“It was life or death — for all of us. No plan, no escape; I want you to know I think you did the right thing, no matter what. It was kill or be killed.”

Familiar words for them all. They make Nadya’s hand clench into a fist on her lap. She shoves it between her legs at the knees. 

_This isn’t about her right now._

Lily raises her chin defensively. “You got a point there, Jax?”

_Oooh this is bad. Very very baaaad._

“I saw something during the fight.” He laces his fingers together between his spread legs. “And it might’ve just been the chaos, the adrenaline… But if there’s even a _chance_ it wasn’t…”

“Lemme clear that up for you.”

Lily snatches the bag faster than Nadya can blink. Faster than Kamilah and Jax seem to have expected, too; judging by their startled looks. 

_Faster than a vampire her age and in her condition should be moving,_ in summary.

She holds nothing back. Brighter eyes a little too much on the edge of carnal looking at the promise of sustenance with glee right before she sinks both sets of fangs in deep. It _pops_ and ruins all future mental images of water balloons for Nadya in the process. But even through her messy eating Lily doesn’t spill a single drop.

Jax leans back and sighs with something like relief, but everything else on his face says the complete opposite. “It was just a flash,” he mumbles as if to himself, “and with everything going on I swore it was a trick of the lights. But then they _took you_ and…”

“The Order is not in the habit of leaving survivors,” Kamilah explains for him; and she would know, “let alone taking captives.”

Lily drops the bag into her lap when she finishes — when there’s literally nothing left inside. Like… _not even the weird little blood bubbles left._ She looks like she wants to rip it open like a bag of hot cheetos and lick the insides just in case.

On the plus side, her wounds are already starting to heal. New skin fresh and practically glowing.

And thankfully not tinged that Feral-like grey.

“Well they’re good at it, habit or not. Their tech is so high it makes _high tech_ look like dial-up.” She rubs at her wrists; the ghost of the memory dark in her now-human eyes. “And it sucked butts and all but…” _how is there a ‘but’ to this of all things?I_

“But even I’m not gonna say it wasn’t probably the only thing that kept us alive in the end. So. That’s all I’ll give them — only because we didn’t, you know, get shipped off to some vampire-Guantanamo Bay.”

A heavy silence hangs over them then. Nadya can’t even imagine what the club must look like now — what it must have looked like when Adrian and Jax had finished their share of the fight only to look up, look around, and see no sign of either of them. All the ash, all the bodies… and one of them, Nadya remembers with much displeasure, that she was even responsible for.

Kamilah doesn’t let the moment doesn’t last long though. Good, she really doesn’t need that flashback right now.

“Now that we’ve come to the inevitable source of tension,” she hesitates; rocks pretty much everyone else’s world because no one would ever look at Kamilah Sayeed and consider she was even capable of feeling _uncomfortable_ like she is right now, “perhaps now is the time for explanations of your own.”

And she looks to Lily as she says it but that’s not where she ought to be focusing that judging eye of hers. So Nadya bites the bullet and waves her hand slightly — the shaking helps it look a little more sincere. “Actually, Kamilah, if you’re looking for someone to blame that… that would be me.”

Neither Lily or Jax come to her defense. That tells Kamilah all she needs to know about whether Nadya’s serious or simply blaming herself as per usual. She shifts on her cushion; crosses one leg over the other at the knee and keeps her spine almost uncomfortably straight.

Not that any of her proper etiquette could even begin to prepare her for this. She forces the slight furrow from her brow before she speaks again.

“Very well Nadya. As succinctly as possible, if you would.”

But there’s really no _succinct_ way to go about describing what went down in the King’s Manor. From trying to keep Adrian’s privacy by glossing over his meltdown that led the crypt-Ferals to find and surround them all to how badly Nadya had gotten injured during their escape; to everything still kinda fuzzy but no less terrifying about their confrontation with the Duchess in the cathedral and… and what all that had meant…

Kamilah holds up a calm hand to interrupt her. Nadya closes her mouth so fast her teeth _click_ on the still-swollen part of her cut lower lip. She winces but toughs it out.

“You’re sure you weren’t caught between the reality of the moment and a memory? You actually _spoke_ to a…” But she can’t say it. Even Kamilah’s surprised she can’t say it. Sure it breaks all the rules they’ve known for centuries and implies terrible horrible _tragic_ things — lives that could have been saved and fates that could have been changed — but that’s just another Tuesday for them.

So she just nods once. After a glance to Jax and Lily and their unnerving solemnity… still, Kamilah struggles to wrap her mind around the concept.

“I see. Please… continue.”

The color drains from Nadya’s face when she realizes what comes next. Thankfully Kamilah takes it as her usual anxiety; there’s an empathy lurking in the cool depths of her eyes that says _I understand, you’ve been through so much,_ _and I wasn’t there to protect you_ that Nadya feels more than understands. But that’s more than enough… or it would be if that were the thing she didn’t want to talk about.

Jax clears his throat and comes to her rescue. “We figured it was a long shot. But if whatever makes her blood special was strong enough to undo centuries of insanity on a fully-fledged Feral, then maybe it was strong enough to stop Lily from getting to that point at all.”

_We._ He means Cynbel of course.

But Kamilah looks rattled enough. The last thing they need is her going outside for a breather and pushing Cadence over the balcony railing.

So with Jax’s help they manage to piece together a sound-enough truth for the vampiress that she doesn’t feel the gaping holes in their memories. One that gives importance to the things that matter, like Lily and her shiny new fangs and the importance of their discovery.

And one that omits things like _Nadya accidentally did the thing you were afraid of from the moment you met the man, the thing you wouldn’t tell anyone about; the reason the Trinity is tangled up in all this and puts us last in terms of millennia-old vampires on our side._

At the end of it all nobody knows what to expect, least of all Nadya. She has fifteen different kinds of apologies on the tip of her tongue and runs the risk of all of them spilling out at once.

Kamilah doesn’t let her get nearly that deep in, though.

She turns bodily back to Lily with indescribably scrutiny. “And how do you feel, then?”

“Do I feel like a monster, you mean?”

_“No,”_ she continues clipped; terse, “if I had even an inkling to that being the case you would not be here as you are. But think back to your… _first_ Turning.”

It settles around them thickly in the air that there’s a very good chance nobody in the history of vampire-kind has ever said that and _meant_ it the way Kamilah does now. The importance of it gives her the responsibility to continue. “How does it feel this time; knowing what you are, what has made you this way? My concern here, Lily, is the threat you may unknowingly pose to yourself more than any threat you may be to others. The latter can be dealt with easily.

“But if _you_ feel different? If your _soul_ feels… _different,_ then we must act now in the early days. While we still can.”

_Act now._ What a kind way to imply such a terrible deed.

Lily throws a sideways glance at Nadya before she speaks. After all they’d already had this talk, right? “I _do_ feel different,” and she cuts Jax off before he can even open his mouth with a finger held up and a shake of her head, “no, I have the right to finish. Because I _do_ feel different. I _am_ different. But I don’t feel any less like myself Kamilah, and I know that’s what you mean.”

“The answer need not be so plainly given. In fact I think we would all prefer if you took time to be absolutely certain.”

“It’s my soul and my body. I think I’m pretty fucking _certain.”_ There’s a harder edge to her voice now. Anger bubbling beneath the surface but not in a way that bares teeth or fangs. Just real and pure anger — the kind without an outlet. “I may not have had a choice in anything that’s _happened_ to me so far but I do now. So either you take my answer here and now or you never really planned on believing me anyway.”

It’s a bold accusation. Makes Kamilah blink, lips pursed… before she gives Lily a short and curt nod.

“Very well. The only one fully able to doubt you is yourself. Especially given your… circumstances.”

Lily clicks her tongue in a _“tch,”_ at the word but that’s all. No, really, that’s all. Everyone’s content to drop it there not just because they have nothing more to say but because they don’t _want_ to add to it.

Things are tense enough as it is.

A tension which breaks when the balcony door slides open and the four of them watch Adrian and Cadence return with a hesitant melancholy. Kamilah quirks an inquiring look at Adrian; he runs his palm down his face with a heavy-hearted sigh.

“She wants to stay and help as much as she can,” he answers her unasked question about Serafine and her whereabouts, “and just asked me to call if we had a solid lead on what to do next. She’s pushing herself a little too hard, but I get where she’s coming from. Even if I wish she’d take it easy.”

Kamilah’s brow furrows. “The final confrontation with Antony left her with more than a simple _injury_. But alas, I can’t say I’m surprised at her tenacity.”

_Antony_. Just the man’s name brings all the events in Paris flooding back to the front of Nadya’s mind. The Order was a looming threat — probably now more than ever too — but the immediate one was like… _two thousand times worse._

_Four thousand_ if they’re counting Isseya alongside.

“So you’ve caught them up then,” asks Cadence, “on… everything?”

He gives a particular _look_ Nadya’s way that she’s very much not a fan of. It gives her a gut feeling she’d thought—hoped, fleetingly—that they had left behind when they fled Paris. The one where everyone around her knows something about her that she doesn’t know — something they’re trying to spare her from.

Her stomach gurgles in agreement as all the knots start to collide with each other. She slides a hand over her middle and looks away from him before it gets any worse.

Kamilah face twitches in the barest flicker of irritation; schooling her expression with practiced ease but that’s just another mask. Just another cover-up. “I had not yet found the opportunity… Cadence.” She says his name in the same clipped and terse way Serafine does. Like her tongue is trained to know better. Her brain not falling for a trick played on her eyes. But that’s not the case anymore.

“I’m hoping it has something to do with why Isseya led us to believe Gaius had executed you.”

There’s an unfinished argument in the way Adrian looks at his mentor and friend. Kamilah tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and nods. “Indeed. I promised you answers when the time was right.”

“When we got Nadya and Lily back.”

“Yes—that needed to remain paramount to anything you may feel compelled to do in the near future.” _When I tell you what I know,_ that’s what she doesn’t say. And she’s definitely got their attention now. All of them watching, waiting; silent and with Nadya on bated breath.

“It was an unnecessary evil; one I would not have gone through with had I any other choice. But we knew the fight was lost — that we had been betrayed by some of our last contacts in the Northeast. Between Miss Espinoza and myself —”

“Why isn’t she with you?”

Lily interrupts unabashedly. Judging by the look bordering on _sympathy_ Kamilah gives her (disturbing in and of itself but about this… well there’s a brand new knot that joins the rest) she was expecting this to happen.

“Because she knew one of us needed to stay behind, much like before when it was you who we sent on ahead.”

“Why does that feel like a cop out excuse?”

“Because it doesn’t nearly begin to paint the picture of the truth.”

“You’re one of the handful of oldest bones roaming the earth Kamilah,” Lily snaps, though she catches herself — her anger — and does her best to reel it in before they have to revisit their earlier talk too darn soon, “excuse me for not believing that out of the pair of you _she_ was the one could do more good if she stayed behind.”

There’s a war across Jax’s expression, half a thought forming on his lips before Kamilah raises a soft hand to stay him. 

“No, she’s right. And that continues to weigh heavy on my conscience. But if you would let me continue then perhaps you may find comfort in the nobility in her actions rather than the cowardice in mine.”

Lily mulls it over with grinding teeth. She does eventually relent; sagging against her seat with her arms over her chest. That blue cuff Nadya bought her on their first night in Paris caught between thumb and forefinger like a totem that doesn’t quite bring the peace it should. 

“As long as you’re _aware_ of your being a coward.”

“Kamilah’s many things — but a coward…” Adrian looks to her like she’ll pick up defending herself where he leaves off. She doesn’t. So he falls quiet as well, falls in line just like the rest of them. They’ve done enough interrupting.

_Anyone else,_ asks Kamilah silent and with nothing but a single raised eyebrow. No one dares, not now.

“It was not an ideal decision, nor was it the smartest. But we were forced to choose the lesser of two evils. Either we could act impulsive and with little thought and hope it would be enough to skirt by, or we could stand and do nothing, _be_ nothing, and watch every effort to fight back be reduced to nothing before our very eyes.

“I said already that we had no allies left. That is only partially true. None that we could fully trust… but in dire circumstances one does what they must to keep their eye not on the battle, but on the war.” She takes a moment for herself; a long silence before she manages to look Adrian in the eye with the weight of her remorse. “I convinced Marcel to grant me access to the secret tunnels beneath his castle upstate.”

“That’s where Gaius is holding his Court, isn’t it?” Nadya asks; and earns herself a genuinely surprised look from Kamilah.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“It’s a long story…” _Please don’t make me tell it now._

And she’s grateful that Kamilah doesn’t. Because she gets it. “It seems most of them are these days…” But back to this one for now.

“I hope he will find it in his heart one day to forgive me. We’ve known one another for many centuries, Marcel and I. But needs must.”

Adrian rubs his mouth slowly, like he can feel her guilt in his bones. “At least tell me it was worth it.”

She nods; the entire room sighs in relief.

“Gaius holds his Court in much the same way he used to. The same pomp and fanfare but with different faces in the same roles. Priya sits at his side as some self-appointed _princess,”_ and Kamilah is well within her rights to sneer the word like she does, “while Cecil’s men act as some adjunct guard service. Marcel is there, as was to be expected. And rarely is Valdemaras allowed to stray from his sight.”

Cadence shifts uncomfortably at the name. “The few times I got Isseya to open up, she made it sound like he was being held hostage. Insurance, almost.”

“If there’s one thing Gaius excels at it is finding the weaknesses of others and exploiting them to his own ends. I won’t say the Trinity are without fault; they haven’t exactly made it _difficult_ to determine what they care about the most…” 

And in a startling turn of events she actually does the exact opposite of what Nadya would expect of the Kamilah they had left behind. She’d fully anticipated the woman turning away both literally and symbolically; angling her own weaknesses away from Nadya where they’re the most vulnerable.  


Instead she and Nadya lock eyes across the table. Pain, frustration, _relief_ deep enough in honey-flecked irises and pupils dark and deep enough for her to drown in. Wouldn’t be a bad way to go, would it?

“But in this case their cooperation is just as damning as their complacency.” The moment passes. Nadya watches her walls go back up from the outside.

“I’m all for a bit of recon,” cracking his knuckles for something to ease his nerves, Jax leans in before she can resume, “but get to the point Kamilah. What the _hell_ does Gaius want with Nadya?”

She doesn’t immediately answer. Adrian, though, looks at the younger vampire like he’s grown a second head. “What would possibly make you think it has anything to do with _Nadya?”_

_What makes you think it doesn’t?_

“What about this points to literally anything else, Raines?” Jax answers with a question of his own. One of the few rare times he and Nadya seem to be on the same page about all this.

Before he can make things worse Adrian bites his tongue. That he doesn’t have an answer is written in the worry lines on his fact.

“The guy sent two millennias-old vampires to hunt her down. _Her_ , not you or Sayeed or anyone in this room who could _actually_ pose a threat to him.” There’s a second where he almost looks like he might give Nadya the _no offense_ card but she just avoids eye contact instead.

He’s fine with that. “I’ve had coincidences enough in the last few months for several lifetimes over. This, Kamilah suddenly showing up in the middle of it, isn’t one of them.

“Is it, Sayeed?”

“No, Jax, it’s not.” Though she might have put it in kinder terms; tried to spare certain mortals in the room.

“Then get to the damn point.”

Before things hit a boiling point Nadya coughs into her fist; fake and loud and with more voice than necessary but it works so that’s all that matters. “I can handle it Kamilah,” like she’s got any idea if that’s what holds the woman back; she doesn’t — but this is bigger than her, “I bet it doesn’t even make it in my top 3 of _weird_ since we left.”

She tries to break a smile and ends up with a weak and strained grimace instead.

“Very well. Nadya, Gaius wants you returned to him, at his Court and in front of his subjects, _alive_ and _human.”_

“I kn—”

“Because he plans to kill you. He plans to Turn you himself.”

* * *

_Paris, Several Nights Ago…_

“All the risks I have taken for you and you _still_ return here?”

She keeps her voice to a low hiss in his ear; a viper full of venom in her fangs despite how she seems very intent on crushing him like some type of constrictor.

Not that she _needs_ to whisper. Doubtful that their accomplices on either side of the fight can hear or see much beyond their frenzied duel somewhere around the alley corner. Steel scrapes against steel and rings out like church bells. Followed by the now-familiar battle cry of Serafine as she rushes in for the kill.

A kill she always tries for — yet always seems to fall short of the mark.

But even with Antony out of immediate sight Isseya doesn’t pull her punches when she sends Cadence flying back into the nearest building wall. His neck cracks uncomfortably, the brick behind him split in several places and just barely indented with his large and sprawling frame. But he shakes it off like he has all of her other attacks. He really has no choice but to do anything else.

He tries to look apologetic as he brushes red dust from the shoulders of his jacket. “It’s just the way things worked out, Isseya.”

“Don’t say my name.”

“I —” He can never tell with her. In Prague she was benevolent. In Rome she speared a rather heavy branch just a couple inches from his heart. In Venice she had him pinned against the wall, could very well have snapped his neck into unconsciousness or the unthinkable worse, but had pressed her lips hard-near-bruising to his temple before vanishing into the night instead.

_Why is it they always end up grappling with one another, leaving Serafine and Antony to continue their seemingly endless duel?_ It makes sense in Cadence’s head that they’d get better results if they switched dance partners.

Another _scraaape_ of swords comes from one alley over. If he’s going to try and convince her now is about the last chance he has left.

“You don’t have to keep doing this.”

“Says a man who has nothing to lose.”

“I think we both know that’s not the case.”

Isseya grits her fangs. Suddenly she can’t look him in the eyes. “If you wish to waste the windows of opportunity I give you, Cadence, then there’s nothing more I can do.”

He watches and waits; sees her momentary distraction for the advantage as it is and strikes. He pins Isseya to the other side of the narrow alley, forearm pushed tight against her throat. A move meant to hold her still more than anything else; one of those moments Serafine calls him foolish for.

The ones where he tries to reason with a woman who has none left to give.

“You could have killed Antony a dozen times over by now,” he growls, “but you cling to the lie that Gaius’ way is the only way. _Why_ , Isseya? Why won’t you… Why won’t you let me _help you?”_

His voice cracks at the end. They both notice, thankfully they can both ignore it too — what with the seconds they have left alone ticking down faster and faster.

_There it is_ — just a flicker, but that doesn’t make it any less real. The smallest chip in her composure; proof that every effort in every city, every bruise and broken bone and _every pleaded attempt he’s mustered_ hasn’t been for nothing… not quite yet.

“Because _I cannot lose another,”_ her voice a whisper on his skin, “I would not survive it. I can still save _him_ even if… _even if…”_

_Even if you are lost to me forever._

Isseya shoves him back. 

Cadence lets her, god help him if you ask him why.

“Antony’s a smart man,” she says instead; it takes the other a moment to realize she’s continuing a conversation they had started more than a week ago. In an alley much like this on the far side of Berlin, “he figured out a long time ago that you two are nothing but distractions meant to divert our course. No doubt he is all but convinced I had something to do with your first escape… but without proof he won’t risk my beloved’s wrath.

“Not with something as valuable as the Bloodkeeper —”

_“Nadya.”_

“What?” 

Cadence huffs through clenched teeth. “Her name is Nadya. She’s a person, not a _thing_. So stop saying that word like it keeps her from being a living, breathing human being.”

Whatever he had expected her to do, it couldn’t have been close to the laugh his words elicit. Nor how Isseya looks at him with her chin raised and a newfound challenge in her eyes. 

“I love it when you do that.”

She steps forward. Cadence steps back. The brick molds perfectly against him like a shadow. 

“Do _what,_ exactly?”

“That,” with a flippant gesture, “that _thing_ where you’re so unlike him without even trying. It makes it easier to keep up the chase.” _Just like it will make it easier to end things the same way._

Over their heads a shadow eclipses the moon. The pair look up to see the rapidly-moving forms of their companions, still locked in an argument all their own that will soon inevitably catch the attentions of one or more late-night Parisians.

“If Antony knows the others are long gone then why do you continue tracking us?” He snaps in her face to draw Isseya’s attention. There’s a sickening feeling Cadence can’t place — like this will be the last time he’ll be able to get anything out of her until the tides turn. “Why not continue your mission?”

He takes advantage of the proximity between them and searches her eyes earnest and open. He even dares — risks it all, really — and lets his fingertips ghost the inside of her wrist where it hesitates just shy of holding him hostage.

The moment passes between them like a live wire. Not for the first time, and if the universe intends on royally screwing all of them over before this is done then Cadence is certain it won’t be the last. But her sympathy, like her sanity, isn’t Isseya’s to control. It’s not even at her whim.

Serafine’s cutlass flies through the air and clatters loudly to the pavement beside them.

Too late — the moment is shattered.

Isseya flinches back. Yanks her arm away from him like his touch is a burning brand. Before she can say anything else there’s a cry from above. Serafine’s body follows the path of her sword almost perfectly; a swan dive without the water to break her fall and when she collides with the earth it’s to the tune of her breaking bones.

_Time’s up._

Cadence’s jeans scrape and wear at the knees as he skids to Serafine’s side and aid.

He gently turns her over, checking for anything worse than the odd angle of her shoulder socket and the deep cut struggling to stitch itself closed along the curve of her jaw. She groans softly in weak protest. 

“Ever think about ditching the sword for something a little more permanent?” He mumbles, half to himself and half as a laugh. It’s something Kathy would do — he’s had that thought several times through their ordeal.

It’s actually a greater source of comfort than he can begin to describe.

Unlike Serafine, her opponent joins them from the rooftop with a stalwart kind of grace. His footfalls barely a _tap-tap_ as he lands just shy of a crouch. Fluid movement in how he stands and makes his way to Isseya’s side. His blade — an old Roman _gladius,_ because Cadence has learned from experience that the older they are the more they tend to lean into the cliche — catches a glinting silver on the distant street lamp. Bright all except where the metal is dotted dark red with blood.

“Good thing we aren’t keeping score, old friend.” Antony remarks. His face twitches in a sick kind of satisfaction as together their hunters watch Cadence help Serafine up, her arm slung over his shoulders to bear the burden of her while she forces her body to heal on _her_ time, rather than its own.

“Unless you wish to count this as an extension of our Nassau campaign, of course.”

“How did the Romans ever get anything conquered if all you do is _talk?”_ Cadence remarks; though his own injuries aren’t as severe in the moment it would be foolish of him not to acknowledge how the constant running and chasing and fighting and more running and the cycle unending has taken its toll.

Antony’s brow twitches; he’s barely given Cadence a second glance since the last time they were in this very city. Not that he’s complaining… seeing as his turn with the brutal General seems to be looming inevitably closer now.

There’s a sickening _pop_ too close to his ears but Cadence resists the urge to flinch. Slowly Serafine steadies herself on her own two feet, grabbing her cutlass from the alley floor to grasp the handle tightly and with the same unwavering conviction.

“He’s right Antony,” and even weak as she is she manages a voice like velvet; crooning in her mockery, “you must be getting soft in your old age. I don’t remember this much _chatting_ in Nassau.”

It would be infinitely more impressive if they seemed to have actually unnerved the man. Instead he’s somehow more impassive than ever.

Beside him, Isseya gives a short and exasperated huff of frustration. “You know you cannot keep this up for much longer, Dupont. Doubtful you’d even last the midnight flight to your next safe home.” She steps forward — tries and fails to mask the pain that comes over her as she watches Cadence throw his arm across the other woman’s front as a shield.

“Just tell us where they’ve taken the Bloodkeeper. One little location… we won’t even bring you back to Court. We will leave you to lick your wounds in the gutters as freemen.”

“Doubtful though, that it would last very long.” Muttered in muted amusement beside her; there’s a dangerous thing to be implied in Antony’s words and eyes.

All the more reason to keep this going for as long as possible.

Serafine snaps her fangs. “Why does Gaius even _want_ her?” The same question she’s asked before; and will continue to ask until they manage to piece together an answer from the scraps they’re given.

“There are hundreds of psychics more skilled he could have.”

“You _know_ the Bloodkeeper is no ordinary psychic.”

“Nor is she a formidable threat to someone of Gaius’ age and skill.” Serafine looks to Isseya imploringly. There’s a lot to be said for the fact that the less sane of the pair is the more reasonable one. “You’ve been in her mind, Isseya. And don’t think I didn’t see the damage your snake of a progeny did there, either. Whatever Gaius would want with her will no doubt go beyond what she’s capable of at her age!”

The Trinity vampire gives a callous shrug. “It’s no concern of mine.”

Beside her Antony’s shoulders shift slightly — it takes more than a fair moment for them to realize he’s _laughing_. Somehow he was less intimidating with the large broadsword raised and ready than… _this._

“If you had any idea what she _really_ was… _who_ she _could_ be…” Antony clicks his tongue, glancing off to the side as if to say _‘you are no threat, I don’t even have to keep you in my sights.’_

“No doubt you and anyone else who stands against him would be singing a different tu—”

The dagger, slender as it is sharp and keenly disguised without flair in the darkness, barely so much whistles through the air before the blade strikes true. Embedding itself deep in the vampire’s back just to the side of his spine as if in warning. Light as a feather but enough to throw the ancient vampire slightly off-kilter.

He stumbles on his words — rare for a man like him — and staggers one, two steps forward from the shock of it.

_“You were always better suited for the stage,_ domine. _What with the way you’re always running your mouth.”_

The flash in his eyes, red and bright and vicious is enough to make it clear that Antony recognizes that voice. In fact if he thinks about it Cadence recognizes it too. As Isseya does, as Serafine does. But it shouldn’t be possible — the look he and his injured companion exchange long and in silent awe is proof enough of that. _It should not be possible._

_And yet._

Despite the odd angle at which the dagger rests deep in his back Antony manages to pry it free with a strange sort of grace. The kind befitting a man of his age and his role in the history of the world… always on the battlefield in some form or another. It slips from his flesh and muscle with a wet noise; catches the light in a strange array of glinting silver and crimson where it catches the light when he looks it over with cool indifference.

Anyone so well-immersed in their kind would know these blades from sight alone; who they belong to and exactly what kind of darkness they’ve invited in alongside it. Antony, of course, is no different.

By all accounts it seems to do nothing more than bore him. “And here I was under the blissful impression I would never again have to hear your snide and unjust superiority, Sayeed.”

His words are punctuated with the hollow metallic clatter of the dagger dropped from his hand and left abandoned by his feet. As inconsequential as the rest of the rubbish strewn up and down the narrow alleyway.

But when Antony finally turns towards the shadows to face the emerging Kamilah, that boredom is all but a fleeting dream. The hardness in his eyes is unmistakable. Already the gears are turning in his mind — evaluating the terrain, the advantages he has and even more importantly the ones he does not. It’s what’s kept him alive this long, that much is obvious.

Though judging by the way the former Bloodqueen looks him up and down positively _murderous_ that may not be enough to save him this time around.

Her eyes never leave Antony’s, but Kamilah raises her voice to speak over the stone wall of him.

“You look a little winded there, Serafine. I do hope you haven’t lost your touch with a blade.”

Serafine who offers a meager, wispy laughter in reply. “I should hope not, Kamilah darling, but here we are.”

There’s a _tic_ in Antony’s jaw. His teeth grind together audibly.

“I see the rumors of your demise aren’t the certainty they were made out to be.” And none of the vampires gathered miss the look he flits to his companion in the dark — barely even a twitch of his head but oh so damning nonetheless.

_After all, it had been Isseya who told them — told Adrian and Nadya and Cadence himself — that there had been no survivors of Gaius’ final assault on New York’s remaining vampires._

No survivors typically means, well, _no survivors._

But Kamilah Sayeed _would_ be the exception to the rule.

She isn’t foolish enough to avoid Antony any longer than she needs to. “If I didn’t know better I would swear you almost seem glad of it, _domine.”_

“Glad of the opportunity to pry you like a thorn from my side, perhaps.”

_Are they seriously bantering right now?_ Cadence shifts and holds Serafine closer when he feels her weight sag against him just shy of fully collapsing.

They stalk one another in the narrow space. Apex predators in the shadows — neither of them yielding or backing down; that simply isn’t their way.

But in the steely determination of their eyes Cadence swears — and maybe he’s just imagining it here, but he’s seen a lot of crazy things these last few weeks and this seems by far the least insane of them all — that a silent conversation passes between them. Not in their minds but in their movements and expressions. In centuries, _millennia_ of history between them both. From when they served the same king to now, here, on opposite sides of the fight.

“One might wonder why a reputation such as yours would be so willing to vanish into thin air.” Antony muses low, practically under his breath. Kamilah blows a single strand of hair out of her eyes — the only part of her out of place.

_“Reputation_ means little with so much at stake.”

“Never thought I’d see the day when the _Bloodqueen_ no longer cares what her subjects see when they come face to face with her.”

He’s goading Kamilah — that much is plain as day. But the part that stuns Cadence (and Serafine at his side, judging by the tension rippling tight through her shoulders and how she fights off the pain of her wounds and hunger like she’s preparing herself to jump back into the thick of it) the most… is how it’s _working._

Whatever that silent not-conversation they’re having is about, it’s enough to _rattle_ her. Well and truly.

Suddenly Antony stops. Kamilah’s hand tightens around the hilt of her dagger; poised and ready to strike. But the Roman doesn’t use his _gladius._ He doesn’t need to.

Not when he can cast just as deep a wound in the knowing way he smiles at her through the darkness.

“You know what he’s planning then.”

He’s not asking so much as stating a fact. One Kamilah doesn’t deny. A quick glance down to the woman hanging from his shoulder tells Cadence everything he needs to know… frankly he’s happy to not be as out of the loop as he feels. 

Even Isseya, when she shifts on the balls of her feet and draws Cadence’s attention away from the old foes, seems to only have a piece of the proverbial puzzle.

_He’s really starting to hate puzzles._

Victory drips like poison from Antony’s smirk. He eases up in gait; leaning back to give the vampire he once called _Queen_ a look far too cynical to be admiration, but the hint of it is undoubtedly there.

“I can’t say I’m all too surprised. Gaius was convinced your fixation on the Bloodkeeper girl would be a blind spot for you. Despite a fair few of us in his Court insisting it would pan out _quite_ the opposite.”

“Am I supposed to be flattered?”

“On the contrary,” his frown returns deeper than before, “because now he may think twice before assuming to know more than his advisors.”

_Advisors, Court. So much going on right now._

Antony waits — they all do — for how Kamilah will respond. It’s not something done out of politeness so much as it is a petty nail in the coffin; not the final one but damn well close enough.

She takes them all by surprise. Again. “I’ve never pretended to enjoy your ridiculous Roman politics Antony, especially outdated as they are. But there is nothing to gain from entertaining the ideas Gaius has come to believe over his century of imprisonment. 

“Surely you don’t _actually_ believe his claims.”

“Whether I agree with his ideas or not is inconsequential. You know as well as I do there is very little to be done when he demands something of one of us. Gaius demands the girl brought to him alive, it’s as simple as that.”

Antony shrugs — like he hasn’t met Nadya, hasn’t seen her cry in fear and rage and desperation. Whereas Cadence can’t seem to get the shrill noises out of his head no matter how hard he tries. 

_If this is what it means to live as long as them,_ he thinks, _maybe I’m better off choosing compassion over years._

But… no. That’s not who Kamilah Sayeed is. He’s seen it with his own eyes — Serafine has too. Even now the very mention of what Nadya is (and what she might be, something they seem to be skirting around awfully carefully with their verbal chess) makes the woman stand taller; lights a different kind of fire in her eyes.

Now if only she would take the pair of them out and be done with it. But Kathy’s always had a thing or two in critique about his damned wishful thinking.

“Never in all my years did I expect to see _the_ Marc Antony so willing to roll over at his Maker’s whim.” Kamilah sighs in something like disappointment. It just gets her another one-shouldered shrug while the man _tap-taps_ his _gladius_ against the pavement.

“All power is earned one way or another. You earned yours your way Kamilah, and I continue to earn mine… and the freedom it grants me… by doing what I must.”

An almost serene smile eases the tension in the man’s own shoulders. “And now, faced with yet another large shift in the way of the world, all I have to do is bring a girl to a king. Though I’ll admit I had started out thinking this would be a relatively simple task…” glancing aside, he looks knowingly, _accusingly_ at Isseya and her stony mask of neutrality, “but I suppose that’s what I get for rushing in without a plan of attack.

“But if the girl truly _is_ who Gaius believes her to be, if she can truly give him what he’s promised any vampire willing to abandon your feeble rebellion and bend the knee, then what’s a prolonged chase in the wake of a new age… of an _immortal age.”_

Cadence spares a fleeting, desperate look to Isseya for answers. She doesn’t have any to give. 

And this is _Nadya_ they’re talking about, yes? Nadya with her headaches and hallucinations and less control over her visions as she would let them all believe. 

_That_ Nadya?

“What the hell are you talking about, Antony?” he barks in growing anger; catches himself by surprise at the protectiveness in his voice, too. And he’s not the only one who hears it — Sayeed does too. “She’s the Bloodkeeper, that’s all there is to it!” _Right?_

He set himself up for that one though, to be fair.

Antony chuckles. Eyes flashing red and the hint of a fang curling at the seam of his mouth. “And do you know what that even _means?_ I wouldn’t be surprised if you _did,_ but you’ve forsaken that part of yourself, haven’t you? And with it — answers.”

That’s getting them all nowhere. To Kamilah; “Please, Nadya’s desperate to see you again, Sayeed.”

Whose face falls before their eyes. The chill chased from her glare and her grip on her dagger wavering ever so slightly.

“I will not let him have her,” she says; and louder still, “I will not let Gaius take her away from me. He’s gone mad, well and truly, to believe in the _myth_ of a myth. I would die before I let his obsession consume Nadya — before he would take her life on the _chance_ that she…”

_Chance that she what?_

But Kamilah can’t bring herself to say it. There’s power in words; in speaking them aloud and giving life to them. Cadence knows that better than anyone.

But before he can even _think_ of how to reassure her there’s a soft moan of pain near his ear that takes priority. Serafine sags heavier against his side; Cadence side-steps and balances them both to compensate for the added weight. 

She won’t stay conscious for much longer (if she could be considered conscious _now…)_ and this time is already far more different than their other encounters. Not just with Kamilah firmly between them and Antony’s game of cat and mouse either, but because the game seems to have finally played out longer than necessary.  


_They need to go. Now._

“I can’t recall ever seeing you rendered speechless, Kamilah.” Cadence isn’t the only one who knows they’re running on borrowed time. That’s why Antony goads her back his way — closer and closer still.

He thumbs a smear of Serafine’s blood from his gladius.

“Don’t tell me the renowned and vicious _Bloodqueen_ is scared of — what did you call it — a _myth of a myth_? Or perhaps it’s the prophecy itself that disturbs you. I believe I recall your struggle for his affections so many years ago.”

_Fuck._ It works too well.

Kamilah rounds on him with renewed fury. “You have no idea what you speak of. And if you wish to live to see the dawn you’ll know never to speak of it again!”

“Ah, yes, well… I can understand the pain of an old flame extinguished; a love lost. I think all of us can,” but when he gestures with a sweeping arm no one _dares,_ “or at the very least we might imagine what it must feel like to have your very being compared with a memory; a ghost.

“Everyone at Court knew, of course. How the Bloodqueen never quite measured up to the Goddess Herself.”

Kamilah Sayeed isn’t a woman to issue hollow threats but that’s not what this is. This is fear freezing her in her tracks, anger shaking her body to its core; an unfortunate truth — not all of it, but _enough_ — being forced on her against her will.

“She _cannot_ be brought back from the dead.”

Antony cocks his head to the side. “Are you quite certain? At any rate there seems to be little harm in trying.”

“If you dare…”

“What, _Kamilah?_ If I dare _what?_ What will you do — better yet what will you have the _power_ to do when he gets his chance? Because it looks to me as though you would not be able to lift a finger, or a dagger at that.

“You would stand there as you stand before me now, held captive by your own weakness. Forcing yourself to watch Gaius Turn her, the Bloodkeeper fed the Blood of the First from his veins. And all would gather to see and bear witness as that blood would bring Her back in new form and face.”

Kamilah takes half a step back — a reflex she can’t control. Much like Cadence can’t control the feeling of his stomach dropping out from underneath him.

No one can truly rise above their own fear.

“He will never lay a finger on her.”

“Denial doesn’t become you.”

Out of the corner of his eye Cadence sees a flicker in the dark — Kamilah’s grip on her dagger renewed; made stronger by her own words. And oh how she practically shouts them into the night sky.

_“Nadya is not the First Vampire!”_

But the Roman remains unfazed. “Perhaps not yet…” he muses, and always with the same damned smirk.

“But she _could be._ And the King is quite determined to find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! I gotta say I really missed posting for a month, but it was a more-than-necessary break from an added stressor because of the holidays. I hope everyone who celebrates something had a good time, and if you don't I hope you still had a good time regardless! Nadya and the others... well they're not having such a good time right now.
> 
> Gaius maybe. I think he is. But he'd be the only one.
> 
> Much like with the other books here's where things really start to shake up -- the big reveal of the plot that's gonna fuel a lot of the character motivations going forward! Can't wait for you guys to come along for the ride!! See you next week! And as always _(god I've missed saying that!)_ comments and critique are more than welcome and appreciated!!


	6. The Discussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nadya and Kamilah teach each other that change isn't always a bad thing. Later everyone comes together to figure out their next steps; starting with determining fact from fiction and memory from myth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warnings** : language, depictions of trauma, references to manipulative behavior, references to torture/inhumane treatment (brief)

She tells them _“I’m gonna need a minute,”_ even though she might need more than one. She might need two, or three, or ten thousand. Somehow no number she can conjure up seems like it’ll be enough.  


They give her all the minutes she needs and that might actually be a problem, too.

But it’s a testament to her newfound willpower that Nadya manages to hold it (mostly) together until she makes it all the way up the familiar-but-backwards steps from the balcony up to the roof. She wasn’t looking to swim but she’s almost disappointed there’s not a pool here because that would have been a familiar sight by which she could try and feel a little more at home. But that wouldn’t make sense for a rainy and grey place like London. The small set of patio furniture tucked away in a corner doesn’t really either, but then she remembers the whole _vampires-don’t-feel-the-weather_ thing and just stops questioning herself to sit down.

_Ho boy she needs to sit down._

Like a ticking time bomb each step brings her closer, closer to the whole inevitable _freaking the heck out_ thing. Nadya more than deserves it by now. It’s one of the few things her mind and body and heart and soul agree on and they’re all grateful for the relief when she finally sits down, tucks her legs underneath herself, and lets out a very _long_ and very _monstrous_ sob.

Because _this can’t be happening._

It is. It shouldn’t be but it is. But maybe if she sits here long enough, maybe if she tells herself enough times…

She loses count by the time someone makes their presence known behind her. Footsteps louder than any of her sneaky all-powerful immortal vampire friends need to make and the purposeful shuffling of the soles against the concrete that’s _just enough_ for her to catch over the shrill wind that’s been joining her in her misery.

It’s a strange way to think about the people she’s known for over a year now; the ones she calls family and friends and then some. But Nadya can’t help it; nor can she help the thought that inevitably follows. The one where _they may be sneaky all-powerful immortal vampires but hey she might be the sneakiest, the most powerful, the most immortal of them all!_

Kamilah gives her a wide berth. Walks around in a semicircle larger than it needs to be so Nadya sees her before she may feel the need to address her, or lash out at her, or whatever she plans on doing. Kamilah looks guarded enough to take whatever Nadya wants to dish out with grace and humility — and that’s still something she’s trying to process too but _not the time_ — without letting it chip away at those darned walls she’s got up.

They’re both a little surprised, though, when those walls last about as long as it takes for Nadya to look up and into Kamilah’s eyes. Red-rimmed and blurry vision not just from her smudged spare glasses or her tears and the pinpricks of light from digging the heels of her palms in so deep she thought her eyeballs might pop out from the pressure.

One look. That’s all it takes.

Then Kamilah is at her side in less than the time it takes to blink. Wrapping cold arms around her cold body shivering not just from that but from _everything else going wrong_ and holding her like they’ll both die if she dares even _think_ about letting go.

_Maybe not die. But something equally tragic._

Silently Kamilah coaxes her into position; her chin resting on the crown of Nadya’s head and giving more than ample space for her to turn herself away from the world, to have a sake place to hide, and laugh, and weep, and mourn things she doesn’t quite yet understand. Neither of them do.

But she’s missed this more than words can describe — had thought for weeks now that it may not ever happen again, that she may have missed her chance with someone as… someone like…

“I’m right here…” Whispered nearly in her ear; three words and then three more that might just be the thing she’s been waiting for this whole time to finally send her spiraling.

_“Nadya, I’ve got you.”_

Which breaks a dam in her chest Nadya couldn’t believe is still standing. Floodgates open and the proverbial waters spilling out and any other version of that metaphor that she’s too tired to think up. She’s too tired to do anything right now, let alone think up metaphors.

And Kamilah isn’t asking her to. She’s not asking anything more of Nadya than to let her be here, let her be held… so metaphors can take a back seat for the next couple of heaving choking breakdown-sobs.

Eventually they fade into hiccups, into wheezing shuddering breaths, then into nothing but the still and the silence. Kamilah holds her through all of it and then some. Weirdly enough the less Nadya cries the tighter the woman seems to hold on. Like first she’ll fade into the quiet and then into nothing at all. So Kamilah has to hold her to keep that from happening.

 _Or maybe,_ says her dumb brain and even it sounds like it’s been crying, _she’s needed this as much as you have._

Which makes sense.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me why?” Nadya hears herself ask eventually — but there’s a strange disconnect between her brain and her mouth and they’re operating slightly out of sync. _Why I’m like this? Why everything has to be so hard? Why I’m not losing my literal marbles?_

Kamilah either doesn’t notice or doesn’t find it at all as strange as she should. “There will be a time for questions later. For now…”

Rarely does Kamilah not know exactly what she wants to say. They both know it. So when Nadya pulls back to look up and at her face again there’s little resistance; the tight circle of the vampire’s arms letting up only enough to give her space to move. Not enough to let her go. _Please don’t ever let her go._

Fingertips like silk trace from Nadya’s back to her shoulder; to her neck up to her cheek where she cups the round and warmth of her skin and thumbs away one of the last tears Nadya thinks her body can manage. Somehow looking directly at her human doesn’t do the wonders for her thought process Kamilah had hoped because she still opens and closes her mouth in silence several times before another word even comes out.

She gathers the strength to try again. “For now… I believe this is something we have _both_ been missing.”

Which manages to wrench one final _aching_ noise from Nadya’s heart before she’s laughing — soft and hollow but somehow she just has this feeling Kamilah might just understand. Hopefully, anyway. One of them should.

When they kiss it’s not like the stories say it should be. For a moment Nadya fears it’s her fault — her fault for forgetting what Kamilah had tasted like, or how her hands traced safety everywhere they roamed along her skin. But it’s been _months._ Months since either of them have had this; since they’ve been allowed to even consider it judging by the easy and just shy of _needy_ way Kamilah’s tongue parts her lips. Probing curious and insistent — re-familiarizing herself with how Nadya tastes, too, and that’s more than enough.

As much as they want to touch and taste and remember _everything_ they may have forgotten there’s a mutual agreement in the words they don’t say, can’t say; wouldn’t dare threaten this moment with to say.

One where their foreheads rest together and Nadya’s breaths slip into Kamilah’s lungs and they just take their time because if they don’t that means they’re desperate — and desperation means there’s a reason to be afraid. A reason to keep from wasting time. That there’s time to waste. That there’s an end coming, or something.

Just let her have this. Okay?

Kamilah does.

And she never asks _why,_ not even when the sky begins to grow light at the edges of the horizon and Nadya knows they’ll have to go back inside _wants to because no she can’t risk anything happening to Kamilah after all this not after she just got her back dammit._ But that’s all the more reason for her to say it — while they’re alone and before they have to go back to… to all _that_ mess.

“You’re not an irrational person, Kamilah. You don’t —” — swallowing down the sudden heart-shaped lump in her throat; but Kamilah is patient and gives her time to try again — “— you don’t do things, make choices, without thinking everything through.”

Nadya pulls back because she has a lot of time to make up for in committing every inch of this amazing, incredible woman to her memory. “This isn’t any different.”

“What would that be?”

 _“‘This,’”_ she repeats, “being here, leaving New York after everything you did to stay and… and try to stop him. You wouldn’t have left that all behind if some part of you didn’t think…”

She can’t say it. _Please don’t make her say it._

Thank god she doesn’t.

“I cannot speak with absolute certainty whether or not Gaius is right. I insisted his ideas were madness — too much, almost. Enough that I came to realize that the person I may have been trying to convince the most was myself. But when you spoke of the events of the City, of your encounters, I will not say I didn’t start to feel the grassroots of doubt.

“I don’t _want_ for this to be the case.” She crooks her finger under Nadya’s chin to raise it. “I would give more than I could possibly express for even the smallest chance to prove him wrong.”

“But instead I gave you proof he could be right?”

Kamilah’s lips purse as answer. Which is, at this point, pretty much the equivalent of shouting it up to the sky and down to the city below.

“What surprises me more than anything, Nadya, is how quickly you’ve… accepted this.” _Far quicker than I,_ that’s what she doesn’t say.

And Nadya laughs ruefully for it. Bitterness isn’t a good color on her but she’s being forced to wear it more and more, isn’t she. “I mean if you’d said it to me a couple of months ago I can’t say I wouldn’t laugh my head off. I _want to_ laugh my head off. It’s stupid and ridiculous and _impossible_ but that’s exactly it, Kamilah.

“Everything that’s happened to me, to us? It’s _all_ been stupid and ridiculous and impossible but it’s still happened. Pretending it wasn’t real is what put all of us in this position because it gave Gaius the chance to get to my memories. Ignoring it could have been the thing that made a difference; that could have stopped… _all this._ So I’m trying out this new thing where I learn from my mistakes and, you know, own up to them. Even if that means…”

Voice trailing off and eyes going wide — the words are right there on the tip of Nadya’s tongue but she bites them back against all the nerves she _just said_ she’s supposedly been developing. _Not anymore._

“Even if that means considering there’s some weird and bonkers chance that the Bloodkeeper is—that _I_ am—somehow a key to bringing the First Vampire back to life.”

The words tumble from her lips in a rush. Her own warm breath and the chills those words bring making her erupt in gooseflesh, make her shiver with the weight and pressure they put on her shoulders — way more than she ever asked for but that’s kind of becoming her _brand._

Kamilah doesn’t say anything right away. Just watches, stoic and with an uncertainty half-written in a language she’s only barely beginning to understand across her face. But it’s a long enough moment to actually look her over, to take in the reality that she is here, and she is alive, and she’s missed the woman so much — more than her heart can begin to explain, even.

Slowly Kamilah reaches up, winds a lock of Nadya’s hair hanging in front of her eyes around a long tanned finger. She doesn’t tug or play with it; just… touches. Nadya has to see her to know she’s real. Kamilah needs just a little bit more.

 _Which is funny in its own way isn’t it? Since it’s not Kamilah that’s prone to hallucinations, but whatever works._ And this; them?

Right now it really really works.

She fixes the strand back behind Nadya’s ear but doesn’t stop there. Her hand lingers cool but like soft marble where it cups Nadya’s cheek. Leeches her warmth — and Nadya’s starting to have more than enough to give… especially if she continues doing that.

“You’re not the same woman I urged to board that plane, do you know that?”

Nadya finds turning her cheek and lips against Kamilah’s skin is a perfect excuse not to answer. But like with everything the vampire sees right through her — and humors her for now.

Instead she hums, head tilted in curiosity, while her thumb explores the same curve of the young woman’s cheek like it somehow changes with every stroke. “I noticed it first when Adrian pulled you from the back of that truck. How differently you carried yourself even in something as familiar to my eyes as seeking comfort in him. 

_“‘It was the passage of time,’_ I told myself, and still find that to be true. But looking at you now Nadya… there’s so much more in you I cannot say I’ve seen before.”

How can she say such unnerving words so beautifully? Oh, right, because Kamilah can do anything with beauty and grace. She’s been in the woman’s head enough to know her capable of the rare art of making a kill feel as soft as a kiss.

And she knows firsthand how capable Kamilah is of making a kiss feel like a declaration — like a promise.

 _Heavy stuff, Nadya._ “Kamilah… I really can’t tell if what you’re saying is a good thing or not.”

She pulls her hand back — or tries to. Nadya catches it before she can withdraw fully. Lacing their fingers together between them, holding them in that moment. _I won’t ruin this, too._

“I don’t say these things to unsettle you.”

“Cool, good. I’m — I mean I’m glad. But that’s not exactly the _best_ explanation in the world.”

“Perhaps not,” agrees Kamilah in a soft and musing kind of surprise, “but for the first time in a _long_ time I am unsure of how to articulate what I _am_ trying to say.”

Which takes a lot for her to admit. Big steps and bounds and leaps and all that because of what she sees… because of what Nadya makes her _feel._

“But you always know what to say.”

“In most instances, yes.”

“So what’s stopping you now?”

“As with many things. Nadya, it seems you continue to be the exception to the rule.”

It brings a silly little grin half-formed on Nadya’s mouth. The kind that draws Kamilah’s eyes in magnetic and impossible to ignore. “I’ve done some pretty impressive things lately,” it’s not being full of herself if it’s objectively true, “but that seems downright impossible.”

Of course she’s pretty sure her emotional _and physical_ bandwidth is nearly used up and any kind of rom-com style _reunion_ between them still has a lot of undiscussed knots, but that doesn’t mean it’s not nice to know she _can_ still draw Kamilah in. Even if she’s _different,_ apparently, according to the woman’s keen eye.

“You’re right. It does.” 

And this time it’s Kamilah who leans in first. This kiss softer than the last, the one after that softer than the one before it. Maybe it’s because they’re both remembering the uncertain slope they had been on in New York. Not that she’s anything _but_ certain right now, just…

Nadya exhales; breath like a shudder.

“However you _mean_ to say it, you’ve got me wondering if whatever it is that’s _different_ about me is… I mean is it something that’ll change _us?”_

“Do you wish it to?”

 _“No_ —yes—maybe—I’m using up the last of my brainpower right now just in case I start talking gibberish.” Even like this she’s apologetic. Yet Kamilah gives her more than ample space to feel, and speak, and _be._

“I’m not gonna say no and try to pretend everything can go back to the old normal. Not with all I’ve seen, and done, from being in Gaius’ head as much as I have to remembering all the times I nearly died these last couple weeks and every time, without fail, the thoughts that could have been my last ones were always about _you._

“But when I say _yes_ that’s not… that’s not me trying to stop this— _us._ It’s the opposite. Because you say I’ve changed but, Kamilah,” Nadya pulls back to look at her with disbelief, _“so have you._ Lily called you a _coward._ You _let_ Lily call you a coward. Not to mention the fact that you _talked to Cadence_ back there but this is about us so I’m gonna shut up now, _ahem…”_

_Back on track, you can do this. You can do this!_

“It might be a crazy idea, but maybe we both needed to change. On our own, maybe a little _too_ alone but still. So that there _wouldn’t_ be a change between us. Not in the way that matters.”

Kamilah’s voice is quiet; almost too quiet. A whisper Nadya almost misses and she’d hate herself for it if she did.

_“And what way would that be?”_

It’s the one where Nadya pulls Kamilah’s face right against hers with both hands and all her lips and heart and freakin’ _soul._ The kind where it’s okay that they’ve been kissing on and off this whole conversation because that was a warm-up compared to _this._

To the taste of her and how easy Nadya finds it to slip back into the familiar motions, tongue coaxed into Kamilah’s mouth and every little noise devoured with something kinder than greed but just as intense.

The way where she’s missed this incredible woman _so.so much_ and for the first time in her entire life Nadya doesn’t have to doubt that might not be the way she feels in return. Not when she can feel it. Kamilah’s nails softly raking over her scalp her body leaning into Nadya’s touch the hard-hitting reality that she’s a _two-thousand year old vampire_ who doesn’t have to do a single thing on this earth she doesn’t want and yet she’s letting Nadya _pull her in_ so there’s literally no further reason for questioning anything, is there?

Kamilah pulls back; only as far as she needs to. She knows Nadya from her racing heart to her pounding pulse and knows she needs to _breathe_ because passing out right now would be the most embarrassing thing to happen to her _ever._

So Nadya takes her generosity with a moment to gulp down air fast enough to make her head spin. “Please tell me that said it all…”

Mirth twinkles as a rare gem in Kamilah’s eyes.

“And if it did not?”

“Well then you’re outta luck — you let me talk _way_ too long just now and if I kept going I was definitely gonna ruin the moment one way or another. Like I’m doing right now. In case you needed a reminder of whatever about me _hasn’t_ changed.”

The woman answers wordlessly by leaning forward and capturing Nadya’s reddened lower lip between blunted teeth. Just another thing that makes her squeak in surprise; flushing practically crimson from head to toe.

She releases her bite with a purr. “Lucky for you that I missed those nonsensical ramblings of yours… _dearly so.”_

“Rambling later, kissing now?”

Which is possibly the single worst thing Nadya’s ever said, to the single worst person she could say it to, and in the single most pathetic and desperate way she possibly could.

And she’s not even surprised when Kamilah kisses her anyway.

* * *

It’s a universal agreement that they have to get out of London as soon as they possibly can. That much is certain.

Less certain is _where_ they plan on going next. But that’s pretty much been their lives for the last month or more so no one is particularly troubled by it more than they are troubled by anything else. This is a brief rest stop on their journey, no matter how melancholy the creature comforts make them feel. They have blood to heal themselves and a bed for Nadya to fall into a living coma on; windows that keep them safe from the sun and at the very least a certain safety from the likes of the Order of the Dawn.

To quote Kamilah on the subject; _“While it is not an impossibility that the Order might find us here, the likelihood of their choosing to forgo years of secrecy and covert operations to launch a full-frontal assault on a downtown high-rise is very low.”_

Which is about the closest they can get to certainty in anything going on right now so might as well take it while they can.

By the time Nadya returns to the land of the living among the undead Serafine has found them. Not like they’re hard to find.

She walks back into the front room to see a bushy head of curls resting on Adrian’s shoulder. Their backs are turned to her but she’s no fool — she knows they can hear her heartbeat; her footsteps. Heck they probably even heard her yawn all the way down the hall. 

But they don’t move so Nadya doesn’t try to disturb them. In fact she swears she sees Adrian’s arm close in just a little tighter over the woman’s shoulder. She leaves them be and continues her pursuit for coffee.

Caffeinated and more-or-less human (though that joke isn’t nearly as funny now as it would have been a day ago), she wanders into Kamilah’s office because even if the place still feels a little foreign to her some habits just don’t go away. 

Sure enough the woman sits behind a far more antique-looking desk than the one she has back in New York; the large wooden frame polished pristine but with that distinctly old-antiquity vibe in the painstakingly detailed handiwork at every corner.

“Welcome back to the waking world.” The vampiress muses with a smirk at the corner of her lips. She looks over Nadya lingering in the doorway with a full and sweeping gaze up and down the length of her. Appreciating the sight as much as she is assessing whether _she_ thinks Nadya’s gotten enough sleep to welcome her into the debate.

Because there’s a debate or _something_ going on, that’s for sure. Kamilah isn’t alone in here.

Jax restlessly shifts to prop his foot on his knee, and his tumbler half-empty on his heel. He’s got that same messiness about him as he had back in the King’s Manor; the telltale signs of fingers running constantly through his hair in the way it sticks up at odd angles in dark wisps. He occupies one of two large wing-backed armchairs on the other side of the office desk. 

But while his is angled enough that Nadya can see him easily the other isn’t — so Nadya casts her glance farther up to see Cadence’s reflection where he continues to hunch over the contents of a thick leather-bound book in his lap.

Lily takes up the couch nearest the bar cart and on the other side of the room. It could easily be explained away by the fact that there aren’t any other seats near the others that don’t include risking Kamilah’s wrath on the surface of her desk or accepting humiliation on the floor, but things are rarely so simple with them these days.

Nadya has no doubt she’s keeping her distance for all of their sakes. So when picking her seating buddy, naturally she _plops_ right down at Lily’s side.

“How’re you feeling?” She offers her free hand and Lily takes it without hesitation. Allows Nadya to look over her wrists now fully recovered; like she’d never had to suffer that horrible inhumane treatment at all.

But she did. And those wounds aren’t so easily healed over.

“Fine, I guess.”

“All things considered?” _Things involving Maricruz, perhaps?_

Lily doesn’t answer. The look in her eyes is more than enough.

“Are you sure you’ve rested enough, Nadya,” Kamilah draws her attention over to the rest of them — the office isn’t exactly _cramped_ but it’s more than a little weird talking to one another so far away, “no one here would think less of you for taking the time you need.”

 _I know what we’ve learned is a lot to handle,_ says the wavering shine in her eyes. Concern and care that makes Nadya’s heart ache to see it. To realize how much she missed it.

But at this point she’s pretty sure she’s handled worse. “I don’t think I’m never _not_ gonna be tired again, but right now I don’t think I could sleep another wink knowing everything we still have to do.”

Jax downs the rest of his liquor — she _thought_ she’d caught the familiar notes of cherry in the air — in one mouthful. 

“Actually, we were just catching her up on that and our one lead so far.” The way he says it; _one lead._ Like it won’t be enough. But it has to be.

“A lead found in the wake of centuries of rumor and subterfuge on Gaius’ part,” Kamilah corrects coolly, “which is more than we had hoped for when this began. While it is true the Eternal Tree has always been considered more of a symbol or an idea than an actual _Tree_ to the masses of Gaius’ dedicated Church, those as old as Serafine and myself know of a similar tale from older days. Gaius used to tell it to instill what he believed to be proper reverence to Rheya and Her ideals.”

“Hey,” Lily jabs her elbow into Nadya’s side softly, “any chance you can channel Her Royal Goddess-ness enough to scare him into _not_ taking over the world?”

“If I thought it would work I’d honestly give it a try.”

“This is no laughing matter; Nadya, Lily.” And they _know_ that, they do. But if they don’t laugh they’ll cry and they’ve both cried more than enough this week alone. 

Still, Kamilah has a point, so game faces people.

She continues; “The older stories were more focused around the world Rheya tried to build before Her demise. A world of peace and prosperity for our kind; one where we didn’t have to hide in the shadows and, most important to the masses of the time, one without fear of the Order bearing down upon us. 

“It was an… alluring idea, even I have to admit it swayed me in ways I would have not otherwise considered.”

“What kind of ways?” Nadya asks. The question makes Kamilah’s lips purse into a thin line — Nadya nearly takes it back but she beats her to it with an answer.

“In subtle ways he would weave humanity and the Order — or whatever moniker they were using at the time — together until they were virtually indistinguishable from one another. Until humans became something to hunt or be hunted by no matter their lot in life. From the lowliest farmer to the richest King, anyone who was not of our blood — of the blood of Rheya — was a vampire’s certain death as much as they were a source of our survival.

“Both the enemy and the cattle — as best I can describe it.”

Jax’s ice cubes _clink-clink_ against each other as he swirls the glass. His face is grave with contemplation.

“Sounds like the all-or-nothing ultimatum the Order pins on us, and our kind.”

“History has a funny way of repeating itself like that.”

He snorts. “You know, _funny_ isn’t the word I’d use, but sure.” And… she’ll give him that. With her fingers steepled together and her chin resting delicately at the top.

“The Eternal Tree was Gaius’ way of proclaiming Rheya’s divinity. He would recount Her final days as a mortal, judged and tried falsely by a jealousy humankind harbored but did not quite understand. Then told of Her days and nights wandering in a darkness, growing weaker with every step but compelled by forces beyond Her to keep going forward. The Tree found Her, not the other way around, or so his story goes.”

There’s nothing different about Kamilah’s voice as she speaks; the same low and purring tone with sharp, honed edges. But Nadya still feels lulled by it like a trance. The woman’s words compel her to close her eyes and _remember._

_“‘And for my suffering I was rewarded beyond all others. Me, and me alone.’”_

When her eyes flutter open Nadya finds them all looking at her. Well, all but Cadence still absorbed in his book. He might not even be fully aware she’s in the room honestly.

“Er—” — hastily she tries to clarify — “That’s what Rheya said in the memory; she said that her faith brought her to the Tree. So… at least we know his story checks out?”

Which _could_ be the case, but Jax and his skeptical snort make a good point too—

“Or they were both off their rockers. Like Maker, like Progeny.”

“It is possible as well that both are the case,” agrees Kamilah softly; this new information running through her mind and memories faster than Nadya can see flit across her face, “but whatever the truth may be, the only thing that mattered then was Gaius’ word, for his was to be taken above all others. 

“And to a group of wayward stragglers, desperate for something to believe in and a purpose to be found in both their endurance and their suffering, his word was all that mattered.”

Cadence punctuates her sentence with a loud _thwump_ as he closes his book. Has he been paying attention this whole time? Nadya honestly can’t tell. Even from this distance if she cranes her neck and tries to find some kind of title on the book’s cover or spine but it’s pretty much a null point.

He looks up and seems startled by the fact they’re all staring at him intently; waiting for him to say something… anything? But that answers one of her questions. He has no idea why they’re all looking at him like they are.

“What? Did someone ask me a question?”

Kamilah sighs and grabs for her own glass of brandy off to the side. Just barely managing to quell quite a large and exasperated eye-roll with liquor to keep her sane.

“I may hold Serafine’s opinion in high regard, but she’s been wrong before,” eyes flicking to Cadence and his face torn between offended and utterly shocked that she’s actually… speaking to him, “there’s more of him in you than you think. The dramatic tendencies, for instance.”

“I closed a book Sayeed.”

If there’s something she wants to say about it she bites her tongue and washes down the bitter words with more brandy. Now isn’t the time for petty grievances. “Interruption aside… did you find what you were looking for?”

What _had_ he been looking for, anyway?

Cadence sighs and shakes his head. “There’s very little beyond the _mythos_ and legend, which I’m sure you’ve heard time and time again so I won’t bore you with the rerun. Nothing on the location Nadya gave me from her vision, either, though I’d suspect _Aenos_ to be some unrecorded Greek principality or the like.” He holds the book up to clue Nadya in — all while glaring at the thing as though offended it couldn’t give him the answers he needed.

Only now she gets why she couldn’t crack the code. That’s not English on the cover.

“I don’t read Greek, Cade.”

“It’s essentially a memoir. One of Gaius’ judging by the tone and self-importance. I can literally _feel_ myself covered in his superiority like a thick goo. It’s disgusting.” He looks to Kamilah almost _pityingly._ “I can’t even imagine spending two thousand years next to that.”

But she brushes him off. Like he’s only allowed a certain number of comments per day or something, and he’s used up all his game tokens.

“So this is cool and all but what I’m hearing is a big fat load of _nada mucho,_ yeah?” And though Lily may not need Kamilah’s standard number of syllables to get it out… she’s not exactly wrong is she? 

“We still don’t know where this Tree is or how to find it. So unless this stuff’s gonna be on the test, someone clue me in on why we’re having this little study group?”

Kamilah leans back into the comfort of her office chair, lips pursed in a disapproving frown. “Patience is a virtue, Lily.”

“Not one of mine, not about this.”

“You think I don’t wish to turn Gaius into a pile of ash swept into my hearth just as much, if not more so?” Head inclined to the side, she waits with that exact kind of patience. Lily, however, keeps her mouth shut this time around. “I thought as much.

“The most important thing you — _all of you,_ really — must realize is that this is not simply some… casual sort of enemy taken down with brute force. Brute force will have to come into play eventually but if we do not understand his motives and angles, and those of his most loyal supporters just as much, then we’ll never get close enough to Gaius to even _think_ about using any weapon we might fashion against him.

“You’ve all seen his monstrosity firsthand, but the reality of the matter is that back home Gaius is _popular_ among his followers. They consider him a savior to a plight they weren’t aware they were suffering from.”

“What _plight?”_ Jax asks, all of his disgust shoved into one word and the curl of his upper lip.

And that’s exactly Kamilah’s point. “The one where superiority for our kind was always inevitable, where co-existence and the harmony we created with the Clans and Council were the attempts of the weak, of those content to step down to some kind of human dominance. 

“He stands before them as a living God in his own right, preaching of Rheya and Her ideal world and with the weight of history at his back I honestly can see why a younger vampire might be swayed. And when they are he will use them, as he uses everyone — they will be the ones on the front lines when… or if… we return.”

Jax turns that look of his right onto Cadence, much to everyone’s surprise. “You didn’t make it sound that bad."

“Things weren’t like that when I left the city.” He looks to Kamilah pleading for support. She doesn’t so much take pity on Cadence as she does give Jax the answers he feels he’s been denied.

“To his credit, he’s not wrong. First the raids and the dissent, then the open conflict and pledges of fealty… and when I finally looked around to see just how _little_ time had passed it seemed as if he had taken the city in a single night.

 _“That’s what Gaius inspires._ That’s just as dangerous as anything he could do to you physically, or psychically for that matter. Either way there will be an army awaiting us upon our return… I would rather you all prepared over being surprised at the loyalty he’s been given.”

And doesn’t that reality just sit like a big fat elephant in the room. Heavy thoughts on heavier shoulders. Admittedly Nadya hadn’t gotten to the point where she could think about what kind of New York she’d be returning to… lately even making it there seemed a little up in the air. 

But to think about all the vampires from the Clans — from any of their Clans, or from all across the country even — being willing to _defend_ a man like Gaius? It’s too much right now. One problem at a time.

“Was that loyalty ever a two-way street?”

Kamilah looks up at her with a furrow in her brow. “Did Gaius ever confide his secrets in some of his more loyal progeny?” And when Nadya nods; “Yes, myself of course… though I suspect he kept me at a distance from any knowledge regarding Rheya because he needed to keep his affections for us separate — more for himself than anything misleading.”

And _affections_ is definitely not gonna be a word they’ll be using. She has no idea what they’ll sub in but yeah, _affections?_ No. Nope. _Nope!_

“What about Valdas, or heck even Marc Antony?”

“Not to my knowledge, and even if he _had…”_

“Yeah yeah, I know. Not like they’d tell us jack crap about it.” Her words ring with her building frustration. Not at Kamilah — she’s just narrowing down their options. But at this whole thing in general.

“You have a point Nadya,” Cadence chimes in, “especially reading his thoughts on his Maker; how quickly reverence turned into obsessive devotion into something almost illegible? I’ll admit it’s a bit suspect that he was able to overcome his compulsions to spread the word of Her so easily. And not among _any_ of those he tried to recreate his original passion play with.

 _“Er…_ no offense.” 

But Kamilah’s gone back to the world where he isn’t there, out of sight and mind. He shrugs it off regardless. All I’m saying is maybe we’re looking too close to him. What if instead of those he’s Turned we should be looking for those he’s converted? Those he’s brought into— what did Serafine call it again?”

_“The Church of the First?”_

The office gets all the more smaller as Adrian and Serafine join in on, Lily’s words — not Nadya’s, their big group study. They keep close and near the wall for lack of anywhere else to sit — Nadya almost moves to offer hers until she sees the ease with which they keep in constant contact. Up to and including their little and ring fingers linked gently together in the faintest whisper of held hands.

Cadence almost falls out of his chair leaning over to catch Serafine’s eye. “You’re looking well, or, _better.”_

“All of my ribs have returned to where they ought to be so I suppose I am, though I could stand to be even better than that.”

“So long as I don’t need to act as your crutch again.”

“Worry not, you’ve not even made the list.”

She smiles at him, strained and short-lived. 

But a smile is a smile and Nadya’s more than glad both Jax and Lily too are look like they’re trying to find the hidden camera for the prank show they’re on. There’s no other logical explanation for whatever… _that_ was.

_Right?_

‘Course, Nadya goes right to the source, which Adrian had expected. He shakes his head the faintest bit; something they’ll _definitely_ not be ignoring later.

“But now that you’re here, the more knowledge to pool together the better,” continues Cadence to steer them back on track, “you seemed very passionate about the more religious aspects of the City of Shadows at the very least.”

Serafine nods curtly.

“Faith can be a powerful motivator. And for all kinds of things. Of course when the City was sacked the practice fell into decline — what is a religion without a congregation to practice it except in isolation? But the Church is still alive and well. 

“Less enthusiastic following Gaius’… _sabbatical_ from the world, but look for the right things in the right places and you’re sure to find an older vampire who still preaches the Goddess’ Gospel.”

“Anyone who might know where to find the right magic tree?” Jax raises his eyebrow her way.

She mulls it over at the very least. Tucking a bushel of her curls absently behind her ear as she focuses on the pattern of Kamilah’s ornate rug — but patterns couldn’t be farther from her mind’s eye. 

They all wait; Nadya holds her breath. Lily holds her hand like a silent chant of _come on come on_ will increase their chances. Eh, why not?

_Come on, come on…_

“None,” Serafine says finally and with a defeated slump of her shoulders, “or none that come to mind who I think would be of any actual help. No _reputable_ sources, that is to say.”

“I don’t care how sketchy the guy might be, we need to start _somewhere.”_

“And I agree with you Jax, I do. However…” Voice trailing off and eyes trailing away from him, Serafine spares a glance to Kamilah instead. Something passes between them, unsaid, and then on to Adrian. He just barely manages to cover his surprise with a neutral look, but the tension can’t be denied, guys.

It says a lot about how desperate they are when Kamilah breaks first. Shoulders easing into her heavy sigh as her hair falls half across her face in a dark curtain. “Insufferable as he is Serafine, he may be our only lead.”

“There _have_ to be other options,” Adrian insists; voice strained, “even someone he’s close to, I could take that over actually meeting him again face to face.”

“He’s gotten worse, Kamilah. And you know as well as I the danger we’d be inviting. If anyone is guaranteed to be singing the Vampire King’s praises overseas it would be him.”

“He’s a vainglorious attention seeker. I doubt he’d take the time to consider subterfuge if we played into his vanity games.”

But Serafine is adamant. “I cannot. He’s turned my gift to our community into little more than a popularity contest.”

“Between the faces gathered in this room that is one contest I’m sure we would win.” And Kamilah nods her chin at Cadence without any _attempt_ to be subtle.

“Especially with him.”

 _“He_ is the one who will put us all at risk.”

While they continue their thinly veiled argument that definitely totally doesn’t at all have anything to do with Cadence whatsoever, Nadya leans in conspiratorially to whisper in Lily’s ear. “You think we should stop them, or…”

“Maybe they’ll tire each other out?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

_“Greeeat…”_

This is what happens when you scrape the bottom of the barrel, apparently. But it’s all they’ve got, so, you know? When the alternative is Gaius ruling the world maybe even the longest of shots is within arms’ reach? It kind of has to be.

If it isn’t… well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there was a lot of exposition this time, but it ended up being necessary in order to advance everything else in a way that had action. Otherwise it kind of read like they were pausing in the middle of big things to talk and then resuming the actions? And I think Lily's the only one who wants to pause action sequences like that... But I'm sure we can all guess who Serafine, Kamilah, and Adrian are so reluctant to go hound for answers... If not you'll see soon!
> 
> Thanks as always, you guys are amazing and I'm so glad you enjoy the Oblivionverse as much as I do so far. Comments and critique are always welcome!


	7. The Hierophant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Prague, Nadya and the others seek the audience of the most famous name in histories both mortal and vampire. It's probably for the best that she doesn't get her hopes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warnings** : language

Prague is cramped roads and buildings of all sizes and heights all mostly the same four or five different earthy, rusty tones. Cobblestone streets and narrow alleys she can’t help but look at even in passing and think, with the hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention, _there goes another hiding place for something wicked and foul._  


That isn’t to say Prague isn’t _beautiful._ Because it is. One of Nadya’s favorite things about living abroad in college (and only in the very smallest back of her mind in Paris and the other cities they’ve hopped to and from here while on the run for their lives and the very fate of the human race) was all the old architecture she got to walk past every day like it was the most natural thing in the world. And Prague is full of opportunities like that.

In her most Nadya-esque fashion, she chooses to focus on that instead of what may or may not lurk in the shadows. She chooses to look at the beauty and history around her because you don’t see stuff like this every day.

That, and because she knows it doesn’t matter what hiding place she might spot — doesn’t matter whether that alleyway or this abandoned road is empty or not. There are things out to get them — out to _stop them_ — regardless of whether or not she’s lucky enough to catch a glimpse.

That’s just their new reality.

Prague is chillier; a fact not made any better by the fact none of the bodies she can cling to in the cold have an ounce of warmth for her to leech. Prague is also kinda rainy; and more often than not when she has the chance to push back the curtains of their modest hotel room the sky is the same shade of grey it was the day before. That’s totally fine — just add some snow and it’s almost like home.

Prague is also the long-time home of Vlad Tepes, the vampire more popularly known _around the world_ as Dracula.

Don’t forget _that_ bit.

Lily certainly hasn’t.

“C’mon,” she’s brought this up half a dozen times now and it always ends the same way but when has that ever stopped her before, “he can’t _really_ be _that bad.”_ Because she’s convinced herself that Kamilah, Serafine, and Adrian are all being a touch too dramatic when it comes to their biased opinions on the most (in)famous vampire in history.

And part of Nadya is inclined to agree… but it wouldn’t be fair not to take into account how literally none of the aforementioned vampires are prone to excessive hyperbole. So maybe he _can_ really be, well, _that bad._

Kamilah simply sighs and continues sipping her wine in idle silence. She stopped entering the discussion early on; probably of the mindset that Lily will see exactly what they all mean when the time comes. Whatever that means.

At this point the only one who will actively engage with her is Adrian. Which says a lot — that’s really out of character for him. “I thought much the same before I met him in person, but the truth is much stranger than the fiction when it comes to Vlad.” He’s said something to this effect every single time, too.

And don’t think Nadya hasn’t noticed how he usually ends up shifting where he sits and-slash-or stands. Or how Serafine is usually there to offer him an affectionate touch in some form or another. There’s a story there, she’s certain of it. But she trusts him to bring it up if or when it becomes relevant to their current dilemma — and if it isn’t then she looks forward to teasing him when the world is safe and Gaius is dust in the wind.

Because it’s important to note that truth and fiction are as different as oil and water when it comes to the man, the myth, the legend. Who apparently did his fair share of noteworthy conquests in his human years and even his first couple of decades as a vampire; but somewhere down the line wound up going from famed ‘impaler’ to something that — based on Serafine’s general description anyway — is shaping in Nadya’s mind’s eye to look something like a cross between Vegas-sensation Mario Bautista and KISS without the face paint.

“There’s something to be said for the measure of success Vlad has been able to attain while living in the heart of the Order’s battleground,” says Serafine almost absently, “but any praise for him should live and die there — even _that_ I find myself questioning from time to time.

“He has been widely _reviled_ from the moment he brought that ridiculous novel to light. Not only for placing us in the public eye but for doing so with such utter… _disregard_ for our truths.”

Jax raises an eyebrow. “You’d think spreading a bunch of lies that humans end up believing wouldn’t be such a bad thing.” But everything on Serafine’s face disagrees.

“One might think, perhaps. But if anyone was less suited to such an ill-fitting ego…”

“So he’s got a big head,” Lily shrugs, “what’s the big deal?”

 _The Big Deal_ is, apparently, how Vlad Tepes has gone from boasting ass to full-on diva in the centuries that followed. Something Serafine seems to take more than a _little_ personally. “And one could suffer his endless tales when they revolved around little more than himself. When he shifted his focus to the Church of the First things became… _complicated.”_

Needless to say the entire premise of ‘Vlad Tepes— _the Dracula_ —considers himself to be a prophet for the First Vampire in all but official theophany, and serves as Europe’s go-to for all things related to the devotion of Rheya Herself’ is something Nadya has been struggling to wrap her head around for… this whole time.

 _Maybe seeing it all with her own eyes will do something about that,_ she thinks, _if only so Lily will finally stop trying to poke and prod for answers their friends don’t seem eager to provide._

Unlikely, but, you know.

“How a person takes in faith is unique to them, and a deeply personal experience. Regardless of their…” Serafine purses her lips for the right words. Or at least ones that are a little more in English and a little less like curses. _“… unchecked vanity._

“While I cannot speak with certainty as to whether or not Vlad was a true believer in the ideals of the Goddess, whatever he _did_ feel was enough to earn him a place at Gaius’ side during the pivotal years he spent spreading Her belief.

“What he lacks in all else he makes up for in his ability to sensationalize anything that comes tumbling out of that vacant head of his.”

Which explains the whole _‘singing Gaius’ praises’_ thing; the largest source of disagreement when it finally came down to whether or not they were willing to risk it all for what Vlad _might_ know.

And while it was unanimous that they would have preferred to wait and see what more concrete information they could dig up, time isn’t on their side. “Still an awful lot to risk on a mere hunch,” comments Cadence — whose natural affinity for research has made spontaneously vanishing away to Prague more than a little stressful for him. 

“I just can’t understand how anyone would even _consider_ believing his claims to have seen the Eternal Tree for himself when there’s literal _published_ proof he’s a pathological liar.”

But this is something they’ve been over, too. Not that Nadya doesn’t totally understand venting the same frustrations in the wake of inaction. But it’s not faith in Vlad Tepes that she has.

Her faith lies in Kamilah. That is _more_ than enough.

“Time and time again I witnessed retribution served by Gaius unto those who claimed to have been touched by the First in some divine form or another. He would not suffer anyone speaking falsely of Her — for good or for ill. Vlad’s claim to have seen the Tree with his own eyes wasn’t exactly kept quiet, yet he remained untouched and, unfortunately, very much alive.”

Which pretty much confirms it’s the one impossible thing he’s actually telling the truth about. This is a good thing!

“And you’re sure you are up to the task, _petit?”_

Nadya knows Serafine only asks because this is something they can’t do without her. Serafine _could_ try to suss out the truth from him on her own but it would only waste more time.

For once though, Nadya feels… not-as-uncertain as she usually does about these things. She wouldn’t be so bold as to call it _confidence,_ but how hard can one ordinary (fame aside) vampire _be_ after she literally pulled Gaius’ oldest memory out of thin air?

“I am.”

“And if your way doesn’t work, we can always go my route.”

And perhaps the most disconcerting thing of all is how those who would normally oppose Jax’s methods of sword-related threats and violence remain pointedly and purposefully silent. Not that anyone is particularly inclined to draw attention to it.

Just like they don’t draw attention to the way Kamilah tactfully uses the rim of her wine glass to conceal the barest twitch of her lips.

Though none of them are surprised at his offer however, Serafine seems to have outright expected it. She throws him a coy smile across the table; a devious glint in her eye.

“Actually Jax, I’m glad to hear you are up to the task. As what I have in mind will not be possible without your help.”

* * *

Sometimes the best plans are the ones that take the most direct route to get to where you’re going. And there’s really nothing more direct than what Serafine has in mind.

The estate is a little under an hour away from Prague itself; swathed in lush and vibrant countryside — or that’s what Nadya imagines. It’s kind of hard for her to see out of the tinted limousine windows as they venture on their lonely road after dark.

Not that the place itself is hard to see. Like a beacon in the night the Tepes manor and surrounding land is lit up in the night. Even with the moon hidden behind roiling clouds the moment their car pulls in and begins ambling up the long gravel pathway they are met with what’s practically a battalion of lamp-posts to show them the way.

All she can think about is how long it must take someone to travel the grounds and light up every single one.

The rest of Vlad Tepes’ lands are hard to see properly. On account of the towering and neatly-trimmed hedge walls that flank their path. “Vlad’s labyrinth is somewhat of a popular novelty,” Serafine explains quietly, “though our heightened senses take most of the intrigue and mystery from the search from start to finish.”

But some well-manicured bushes are nothing compared to the splendor of the actual castle itself. With its sprawling Gothic architecture in spires and buttresses it’s truly everything one would expect when they hear something like _‘the Castle of Vlad Tepes.’_

Flickering flames in old stained-glass windows somehow both perfectly preserved and still allowed to age with grace. _Not unlike vampires themselves,_ Nadya thinks fleetingly, and lets herself drink in the passive appreciation of it while she can.

Before something inevitably goes wrong and, much like in the way of Marcel’s castle back home, has her thinking back on it with a sour taste in her mouth.

“I still can’t believe you just _called the guy up.”_

Jax has barely paid any of it a second glance; not the journey or the destination. He’s stayed in pretty much the same position the entire drive; arms never uncrossing from his chest and, to literally no one’s surprise, with his sword never leaving his lap.

“How would you rather I have gone about arranging this little parley then, hm?”

The two vampires stare one another down in silence. Suddenly the cabin feels a lot more cramped and heated than it did just a moment ago. Nadya tugs at the collar of her shirt in discomfort.

“I’m not saying I had a plan, but if I’d had time to make one it wouldn’t be walking through his front door.”

But the younger’s irritation only seems to amuse Serafine, who purses her lips into a thin line to keep from smirking at him too obviously.

 _“Ah, oui._ I suspect you would have gone looking for a secret entrance of some kind… perhaps a sewage tunnel by which to secret yourself in and out undetected?”

Jax just shrugs. “Can’t say I wouldn’t.”

“I can.”

Two words and just like that all the mirth is sapped from the air around them. Nothing fills the void left behind; it stays hollow and empty with foreboding.

“If such a passage _did_ exist, which I can assure you it does not, would the Order not have used it long ago in much the same way?” She raises a single eyebrow at Jax, continuing before he has a chance to answer her.

“While your modern methods are indeed a fresh eye on an old war, Jax, they seem to blind you to the full scope of the kind of life we have lived here for all these centuries. Safety is but a fleeting dream to us. No shadow goes undisturbed for signs of the enemy. Every shelter — from a boarded-up chapel on the wayside to a sprawling manor house such as this — has been deemed safe only after proceeding with the utmost caution.

“Even someone as brazen as Vlad would not dare risk his own life by doing anything else.”

Nadya swears she can hear Jax’s teeth grind in his set jaw. That may be the gravel under the tires though. 

The limo starts to slow down as they pass through a break in the hedges to reveal a wide arcing roundabout that stops just shy of the castle’s imposing front doors.

“So what you’re saying is if this goes to shit tonight there’s really no escape plan, huh?” Jax finally asks, and with a much softer voice than either Serafine or Nadya would have expected.

It makes the vampiress throw him a sympathetic look. One he pointedly ignores, but when has that ever stopped her before?

“Have you such little faith in my charming disposition?”

It’s a meager attempt to lighten the somber mood at best, but it’s enough to at least ease his suddenly white-knuckled grip on the sheath of his katana.

“More like a lack of faith in your judgment.”

“Inspired by?”

“Whatever the hell you see in Raines.”

It’s as though the driver has been taking his sweet time waiting for a break in their tension to finally get there. Which can’t possibly be the case; since the partition has been up from the moment they pulled away from the hotel and the ones they left behind… can it?

He cuts the engine abruptly. Something about the reigning silence makes Nadya’s heart start to inch its way up into her throat. Jax, sitting closest to her and no doubt hearing the spike in her pulse, reaches out and squeezes her shoulder.

“You okay there?”

She gives a noncommittal shrug, glad when he doesn’t drop his hand. “Situationally or existentially?” The joke, unfortunately, doesn’t quite land.

“At least this one is above ground.” He tries to reassure her. But apparently neither of them are allowed the luxury.

“The parts you can see…” Serafine says; her last words before the door opens to signal their arrival.

The night air is cold and makes Nadya’s eyes water as she steps out between her companions. She would have rather had Kamilah or Adrian at her side but that just wasn’t possible.

Serafine had made a point that couldn’t be denied. Between Kamilah’s assumed death and Gaius’ known ability to hold a grudge longer than most modern civilizations had been around, those two were pretty much screwed if anyone just so happened to recognize them. 

With Antony and Isseya off the radar since Kamilah’s return and none of them having any hint or clue as to whether or not Gaius had started extending his reach overseas yet, they were better off housebound (metaphorically speaking) for the time being.  


As it is they’re risking enough bringing Jax along, but apparently the fact he hadn’t made _“much of an impression”_ on Gaius, to put it in Kamilah’s own words, was to their benefit. They were playing safe over sorry with Lily and her newly-acquired _quirks_ too.

It was easy to write off the fact that Serafine hadn’t even allowed Cadence to _volunteer_ before shooting him down as being, well, Serafine and Cadence being Serafine and Cadence. But there’s still a lot they don’t know about whatever had happened to their friends when the group split up — whatever it was though was enough to ease that tension in ways nobody would have expected.

 _“The intention is to meet with Vlad as quickly as possible, and ideally without arousing suspicion from him or any who might be in his entourage.”_ Serafine had explained. _“Seeing as Cynbel of the Trinity has been_ famously _dead for over a century now, seeing him suddenly reappear in the midst of Gaius’ ascension might as well be the definition of suspicious.”_

The argument was fair and valid and lucky for them to have that kind of forethought, honestly. But when Nadya thinks back to the vague air of their talk back at Ahmanet in London and pairs it almost absentmindedly with the way Serafine and Kamilah exchanged a long and almost _nervous_ glance at one another when Cadence’s back is turned…

Let’s just say at this point she’s just waiting around for the other shoe to drop. Or the other-other shoe. Like the kind of shoe an octopus might wear or something.

All of that and only Nadya is left; always the odd one out. But the Bloodkeeper can’t _not_ do this, so what choice does she have?

They just have to hope Kamilah was right when she assumed Gaius would want to do everything in his power _not_ to let Nadya’s name and face spread too far or wide. That he wouldn’t dare run the risk of someone else getting to her before he could.

Neither option appeals, for the record. But at least she’s not the only one risking her neck.

The driver gestures for them to wait at the base of the castle steps, letting them know they will be shown in shortly. He doesn’t linger, job completed, and soon Nadya is throwing a glance over her shoulder to catch the bright red tail lights before the car disappears back around the hedge line and out of sight.

Serafine’s hand comes down in between her shoulder blades somehow both heavy and comforting. A simple touch that eases the tension beginning to knot there that Nadya hadn’t even realized existed. 

“Your heart is racing, Nadya,” she states the obvious with a gentle smile of her own, “we may be able to account his notoriety for your nerves but please… try to control your breathing.”

She nods, wide eyed, and swallows through her dry throat before inhaling deeply through her nostrils, holding, and letting it out as a warm breath on her lips. In, and hold, and out, and in, and hold, and out several times before she glances and sees the tiniest nod of approval from the vampiress.

“You’re pretty calm, given everything.”

“Why would I not be?” asks Serafine in obvious surprise. A little _too_ sincere, in Nadya’s opinion.

“The way you’ve been talking about him sounds a lot like you guys aren’t old friends.”

Her rouge-tinted lips purse wryly. “No, I would not associate myself with him so plainly.”

“Then why did he agree to meet with you?”

 _A fair question, too._ One that has Jax listening attentively even if he doesn’t look away from the doors still not yet opened to greet them.

Given the gravity of the situation, Nadya’s grateful that the woman doesn’t seem to need the time to carefully choose her words on this. Hopefully that means she isn’t sugarcoating it. 

“The truth is that I did not reach out to him, but rather chose to finally accept a long-standing invitation.”

“Invitation to what?”

Serafine’s answer is drowned out by the sudden opening of the front doors; old heavy wood on ornate hinges designed more with the aesthetic in mind. Their harsh squeal cuts into the trio’s ears and makes Nadya flinch violently.

Soft yellowing light spills out into the night. A haze that stretches down the stone steps and all the way to where they stand gathered on the gravel. Nadya quickly throws the back of her hand over her eyes as she blinks away hazy colorless dots in front of her sight.

It’s just one big gaping hole of uninterrupted brightness… until a shadow starts to cut a long path through the din. It stretches longer and longer until it nearly reaches all the way back near the break in the hedges; a towering figure that, once her eyes adjust to the new lighting, doesn’t quite match the reality that stands before them.

_“As I live and breathe — what be this vision before me? It could not be the captivating sight of one Serafine Dupont, surely!”_

There’s so much to unpack there but Nadya’s brain is already frozen and buffering on account of the singular thought that consumes her entire being.

 _Those are some_ tight _leather pants._

The fact that Vlad is wearing all black only adds to the formidable, if shapely, shadow he cuts across the front path. He gestures widely and exuberantly and with no small amount of purpose; the kind of motion that makes sure his large billowing sleeves move in precisely the right way and give him the perfect amount of flair.

Even without the combined warnings from Kamilah and Serafine prior to this exact moment, Nadya’s certain this first impression is all it would take for her to know exactly the kind of man _Dracula_ is.

A one-hundred percent unrepentant _drama queen._

Neither Jax or Nadya miss the sight of Serafine quickly steeling herself. How she tucks away any lingering distaste (though maybe it’s the whole psychic-connection thing but Nadya swears it’s not _that_ hidden if she can still feel the remnants of it) and slips on what could very well pass as a genuinely sincere smile for how natural it looks.

_Oh, she’s good._

“Vlad,” she coos, somehow both a greeting and an endearment both with one meager syllable. “I see the years have remained kind.”

With his hands on his cocked hips Vlad lets out his own rich bellowing laugh. The kind that has Nadya looking subtle as she can over her shoulders to see if there really _is_ anyone able to hear him waiting in the shadows; witnessing them all like a permanent audience for his constant theatrics. Her senses may be perilously human but Jax doesn’t seem to notice anything off… hopefully he’s got a better grasp on their surroundings while their host holds Serafine captive with a gaze.

“Whereas you, my exquisite creature, look absolutely _radiant._ Perhaps even glowing as much as I am!”

The ‘Count’ is definitely younger than Serafine, which makes his comment more than a little suspect. About as suspect as the fact that he hasn’t moved from his place at the top of the steps… nor has she moved from her place here below.

They’re having a good old-fashioned stand off. Each one waiting for the other to yield their ground and move things along. But it’s different between the pair of them, that much is obvious.

Vlad shifts on the heels of his boots with an expectant lilt to his smile. He’s used to being greeted with respect and reverence — which Serafine isn’t _not_ giving him — but it means he makes others come to him.

And everyone (Vlad included) knows quite well that Serafine only does what she wishes and nothing more. Hence the way she stands graceful, calm, and poised. Hands folded lightly over the bodice tight against her blouse.

She tilts her head to the side so gently her hair falls around her shoulder in a dark pillowing cloud.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” she asks bemusedly, “aren’t you going to come give us a kiss?”

With his hand forced and no time to find a reasonable way to turn the tables Vlad has no choice but to acquiesce. “Of course, of course!” Then he’s skipping down the worn stone steps two at a time, the rhythm of his heels following him all the way down. “I just needed a moment to take all of you _in,_ darling. Alive and well and vibrant as ever.” 

He embraces his fellow survivor with open arms and a kiss to each of her cheeks.

 _Another good reason Adrian didn’t come with,_ Nadya finds herself thinking — the only distraction she can muster to keep from cringing at how he gets a little _too_ friendly on her face with his lips, _we need Vlad_ alive _after all._

And after that display… that might have been something up in the air.

Vlad coaxes Serafine back to hold her at arms’ length; only he doesn’t actually let her go. Some small attempt to reconcile his failed power play, maybe.

It doesn’t matter. Just as she did before Serafine breezes her way through anything he might do to her — a simple gesture and roll of her shoulders to adjust her hair has Vlad all but staggering back like she’s thrown him backwards with all of her strength.

“You say such things as though they may have been in doubt.”

His recovery is a meager and tight-lipped smile. “My ears on the ground have a lot to say about changes abound on your side of the continent. Absolute _chaos,_ from what I’m told.”

Tension ripples through Jax and has his hand drifting to the sword affixed to his belt. Nadya throws him a worried look; all wide eyes and silent pleas, but from the looks of it she didn’t need to bother. 

They might as well be invisible for all the attention the famed vampire gives them. Not when he has whatever old grudge fuels the calculated exchange between himself and Serafine to put his energy into. But never in her life has Nadya been more glad to be considered chopped liver.

Serafine doesn’t immediately answer. The inaction makes Vlad’s eyes flicker in ruby shades of delight; makes his smile grow wider and a little more meaningful — he thinks he’s won somehow. 

“Surely you know of what I speak,” hand over his heart and eyes downcast in cheap, tacky grief, “as I can’t begin to imagine why you wouldn’t have been in Paris during the Dark Solstice. A morbid affair, from what I’ve heard. Almost no survivors to speak of.

“Save yourself, of course.”

Tension crackles between the vampires like electricity. It amps up the long pause that lets his words settle in like a rot; one he’s content to let spread so long as he can’t see it, or as long as nothing of _his_ is damaged by it. Though if he lets it fester everyone’s gonna succumb eventually… or some other metaphor like that.

“You’ve always given credence to such _boisterous_ tales, Vlad.” The woman replies a mite _too_ calmly.

“You deny the Order has reared its fearsome head on your side of the continent?”

“Did I say that?”

“You did not say otherwise.”

“No…” Her voice trails into something soft; hand coming up the brush the back of her knuckles over the high arch of Vlad’s almost alabaster cheekbone. He could bat her hand away, step out of her immediate reach; anything to abate the way he’s shaking very obviously now in his boots. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t move an inch.

He just takes it.

Topped with the cherry pink of Serafine’s angelic smile.

“No I did not.”

And just like that she’s restored some sort of hierarchy between them. One that existed long ago and that Vlad Tepes had apparently forgotten in the intermission that followed. There’s less fear in him when he finally relaxes, when she lowers her hand to clasp his with a gentle little squeeze. But there’s a difference between showing fear and being afraid.

Serafine continues with a newfound confidence. “But your concern warms my heart, old friend. Such as my heart warms to know that with our differences aside we can remember the one thing that binds us. That which is more important than anything else.

“By the Will of the Goddess.”

She takes their joined hands and twists them gently. The darkened copper of her skin in stark contrast to his as she coaxes his palm facing upwards.

Nadya watches intently. She wonders for a moment if Serafine intends to draw blood from the bright vein under her thumb… but it passes over like a kiss and nothing more.

“By the Will of the Goddess,” Vlad repeats — far more winded than he had been mere moments ago.

To Serafine’s left Jax shifts on his boots restlessly. Not that anybody asked but Nadya’s seriously impressed with him right now; given his track record with these kinds of things the fact that he can resist rolling his eyes and looking for all the world as though he’d rather take his way through this in favor of the bare minimum of neutrality is worthy of some serious accolades.

Not that he gets any. But Serafine can take a hint.

 _“Vlad, ma puce,_ let us move this inside, shall we? I’ve yet to introduce my delightfully stoic American friend here; and he’s been so patient with us hasn’t he?”

It isn’t hard for Jax to pretend to be utterly disinterested in Vlad as the man finally seems to acknowledge his presence — simply because he’s not even pretending. But Vlad had been; that much is obvious. As he looks the younger vampire over with a lazy enough eye.

One that makes it abundantly clear that he _had_ noticed Serafine was not alone; but that he simply didn’t see why he ought to make the effort to care.

 _“American_ you say,” — oh of _course_ he says it like that; snooty upper crusty and like he’s actively _trying_ to get Jax to put him at the top of his hit list; maybe even higher up than Gaius at this point — “how… _bold_ of you.”

But his attitude aside, it’s impossible to miss the shift in the way Vlad’s eyes rake over Jax to take him in fully and as a person, less like a piece of Serafine’s luggage left aside. 

His eyelids lower a fraction, likes like smoldering embers as he drags his gaze up to finally take in Jax’s handsome features through thick lashes. If there was any doubt left as to what the man’s mind conjures up with the sight before him — there really isn’t though — that’s pretty much dashed the moment he swipes a hint of his tongue out to wet his lower lip.

“Yes, _bold_ indeed…”

Before he can say anything else there’s a loud noise from just beyond the castle doors. A heavy _thud_ that sounds an awful lot like heavy furniture or something else being dragged across a floor.

Jax’s shoulders sag in visible relief as the sound jostles Vlad out of his thoughts and back to the present. He turns back to Serafine.

“Yes yes, do come inside! The American too, I suppose… You can even bring your little snack.”

It takes Nadya entirely too long for her to realize _she_ is the snack. That doesn’t sit well, to be honest.

But it’s the first time Vlad’s even acknowledged her existence and… it’s a little underwhelming if she’s being honest. Not that she _wants_ to earn Vlad’s attention in any form — especially with how touchy-feely he’d been with Serafine — but maybe by this point she’s just gotten so used to strange reactions from vampires that being completely and utterly _ignored_ is… a whole lot of strange for its own reasons? If that makes sense?

 _It does make sense,_ if Serafine’s face is anything to go by. How she darts a quick look between Vlad and Nadya and just barely manages to wipe the confusion from her face before it becomes something worth noting.

It could be worse… so she counts her blessings.

Without further pleasantries the man takes long strides back up the steps. He assumes they will follow right at his heels, and they do. Though if the looks shared between the three of them are any indication nobody is feeling as confident about this whole mess as they did before they exited the car.

And they can’t even mention it. What with the whole _vampires having supersense-hearing_ and all.

Vlad doesn’t stop at the top of the stairs. He continues striding right on through the doorway and immediately he’s met by an attendant on either side. Each face is pretty in the way model runways are pretty; with a sharpness to their features that makes them look almost feline and, these two at least, with some kind of gold-colored highlighter that accentuates the sharpness of their umber skin in the distant candlelight. 

One steps behind him to catch the suit jacket he shrugs off of his shoulders, while the other who places a fresh glass of a brown liquor in his waiting hand.

“I hope you can forgive the mess of the place,” Vlad pauses to sip his drink and thanks one of the pretty faces with a knuckle stroked along their long throat. They remain impassive to the act but the intimacy can’t be denied. 

“You know how crazy things can get when planning _the_ social event of the year and all that.”

Only it’s not a _mess_ so much as it is just a bit… bustling. From the front walk Nadya’s human hearing hadn’t caught onto the noises coming from inside the place but seeing it all now she’s considering getting her hearing checked.

One would expect an estate that looks like _that_ on the outside would be no less decorated within, but _decorated_ is pretty much an understatement. Though if anyone were to make sure any place they lived was decorated to the nines regardless of the time of year it would be Vlad.

Despite knowing that, the hectic bustle of bodies between propped open grand doors and up and down a staircase that branches off on three of the castle’s main floors, though the staggering height of the place from afar tells her there are more levels than what she sees here. 

Everything is decorated with the kind of taste that comes from old and inherited wealth and is topped off with a modern edge. 

Banisters roped with thick twines of velvet in various shades of reds and golds and what look like _real diamonds_ acting as little more than baubles dangling from the tassels at the hems; furniture scattered around the large foyer in plush cushions and couches that look at first like the genuine antique but on second glance are gold-inlaid replicas built with modern crafting techniques and with longevity in mind. 

Another _thud_ comes from a handful of attendants moving a large chaise from one side of the hall through another doorway.

On the ground floor there’s a giant ladder propped up against the far left wall and an attendant balancing atop it. They hold themselves perfectly still, almost delicate, while they secure dark nearly blood-red ribbons around the bottom rungs of a chandelier. They must be nearly done, judging by the same material already wrapped around the chain securing it to the ceiling, and the dark color of the fabric dulls the light and leaves the room hazy both from the continuous heat of the flames that don’t quite permeate the thick texturing.

By the time this place — or this space at the very least — is done being decorated it will certainly be beautiful. But it will be a dark kind of beauty — gothic in a way.

Exactly the kind of event decorations you would expect from Count Dracula; but there’s a respect to be had for the fact he leans into the aesthetic with gusto.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Tepes,” praises Serafine through a hitch in her throat. She’s looking around the foyer with a wistful kind of wanting; a small sparkle held in her eyes that has nothing to do with the lavish decor and everything to do with the invisible hand squeezing her heart up into her throat.

Given recent events especially, the vampiress is no stranger to grief and longing.

And Vlad beams like the way she speaks is more of a compliment than the words themselves.

“Only the best for the best of us, as I’m sure you remember.”

“All your earlier words about the Order, yet you insist on throwing your _bal masqué.”_

“It is specifically because of these troubling times that we must continue with our most important traditions, Serafine!” He feigns shock with a hand on his chest. The ice in his tumbler _tinks_ together delicately in his grasp. “I thought you, of _anyone,_ would agree.”

He’s goading her and getting more obvious in how he does it by the second. She’s taken it with grace up until now but there’s a tight edge to her tone starting to chip through her armor.

“Tradition, in times of war, can be put aside if that’s what ensures it has chance to be continued.”

“When are we _not_ at war? The Order is no less vicious now than it was before…” He stops and sips his drink again. Casting a passive appraisal around the continued decorating.

“Unless,” with a _click_ of his tongue, “there is a _different_ war you speak of.”

Nadya doesn’t know what’s scaring her more right now; the fact that Serafine had let something that dangerous slip to begin with or the fact that Vlad had caught on so easily. She risks a look at him out of the corner of her eye… much to her relief his sights are still set on Serafine.

An easy grin curls his mouth. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment; let me make sure the parlor’s been made to greet us.” And when he takes his leave of them off to the right and around a set of double doors there’s a saunter to his gait that wasn’t there before. His smugness lingers in the air like a bad perfume.

The moment he’s out of earshot Jax rounds on Serafine with barely-restrained frustration.

“What the hell are we playing his games for? We don’t need to do _any_ of this to find out what he knows.”

With pursed lips Serafine continues to watch the preparations taking place around them. Jax’s frown deepens.

“Serafine.”

“I heard you Jax, don’t worry.”

But that’s still not an answer. Before he ends up raising his voice even more, Nadya reaches out and lays her hand over Serafine’s where she wrings her fingers together at her waist.

“Serafine…” If only she didn’t sound as worried as she is; as the woman’s continued silence makes grow inside her. Serafine doesn’t push her away, but she doesn’t seem welcome to the touch either.

She finally lets her head hang with a weary sigh. “I had thought that given all that transpires around us, Vlad might have chosen to postpone this for the sake of his own safety.

“If not because of Gaius, then because of the Order.”

“Because they’ve been attacking more often, you mean.”

She nods. “But that’s assuming far too much of him. Cunning though Vlad may be, he isn’t very bright.”

“He’s certainly…” Jax’s growl drips with venom, _“something.”_ Nothing good.

“So are we keeping with the plan?”

Squeezing the woman’s hand is enough to finally wrench Serafine’s attention back to Nadya. “No, we are not.”

Jax tenses. “Why the hell not?”

“Because this —” Nadya’s hand falls to let her offer a sweeping gesture to the foyer’s decorations, “— his _bal masqué?_ It changes things. It changes everything.”

She says it in a way that has Nadya feeling like she’s missing a few key facts. She and Jax exchange equally confused glances, and make Serafine sigh heavily for it.

“There’s too much to be explained here. We must leave while we still are able.”

“What does _that_ mean?”

“It means that he knows who you are, Nadya.”

It’s like a large gust of wind blows out every candle in the room. Not literally — but the warmth of them is sucked from her bones easily enough. It leaves Nadya feeling hollow as much as she is cold; makes her wrap her arms around herself like that will somehow protect her. She shakes her head slowly… but the disbelief isn’t as intense as she would have hoped it to be.

“But he —”

“— is a performer before he is anything else,” interrupts Serafine; and she’s not wrong. “While he may not have guessed you would be at my side tonight, he has likely known your face and who you are for as long as Isseya and Antony have.”

“So Gaius has been in contact with him then.”

Serafine doesn’t even have to give Jax a verbal response. 

“Then we need to go. We need to leave the city; regroup somewhere else.”

“We’ll take our leave of him tonight, yes… but—” _—there shouldn’t be any ‘buts’—_ “—we will be back. We’ll be here for the _bal masqué,_ with the others; and, Goddess-willing, better prepared.”

_Uhm… what?_

“Why the _hell_ would we do that?” And Jax just barely manages to check his volume, though he’s no less angry. “It’s a party for fucks’ sakes. What’s the big deal?”

“Not here.”

The swordsman throws a look over his shoulder towards the doors Vlad should be coming back through any minute now. “He’s not just gonna _let us leave._ Especially if —”

_Especially if he knows._

But Serafine seems to think otherwise.

“He will. He knows we’ll return; I would even hazard to say he is counting on it.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“Unsurprising.”

Before he can try and push the issue Serafine wraps a strong arm around Nadya’s shoulders and all but shoves her towards Jax. “Take her and go. I will deal with Vlad and give you what time I can.”

He just barely manages to catch Nadya before she falls into him. Reaching out to steady her and make sure she has her feet before rounding on their companion. “What the he—”

But he’s too late. Serafine is already five long strides away — far enough that he’d need to raise his voice to catch her. And they both know he won’t take the risk in alerting Vlad’s house staff. They’ve all been dutifully working this entire time, but if the woman dusting picture frames or the couple laying down ornate Persian rugs are anywhere as deceptive as their boss they may be ready to strike at any time.

That thought does _not_ sit well with Nadya’s meager dinner.

“We should try and leave.” _While we still can._

His jaw visibly tenses, but already he’s starting to slowly nudge the pair of them back through the open doors. “Fine. But she and I aren’t done with this.”

They catch the distant sound of Serafine’s laugh just as they walk through the doorway. The cold bites Nadya’s hands and face harder than before but sheer panic is more than enough to keep her putting one foot in front of the other. When they’re out of the building and back in the darkness, Nadya and Jax don’t hesitate to pick up the pace. Any faster when they hit the gravel and they’ll be full-on running into the night.

Well… they _are_ running into the night. That’s the point.

“What’s with all the vampires on this freaking continent and the fact they can’t give a straight answer to save their lives?”

“Well they can’t all be like you.”

At the glower he gives her Nadya just barely manages a smile through chattering teeth. It definitely helps her feel less panicky.

“And that means _what_ exactly?”

“They can’t all be bold Americans, obviously.”

Jax groans, fully under-appreciating her brand of awkward humor, and takes Nadya’s hand to bring her along as he speeds away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are we back baby? Oh yeah, _we're back, baby!_ Hey guys! Thank you all so much for your patience in getting this out to you with the hiatus and everything, and I hope the wait was worth it as we start to rev up to the Masquerade Arc. I've had the ideas and groundwork for this arc laid out since I was in the middle of writing book 1; one random shuffled song on my spotify at night hit me like a truck with a ton of ideas and worldbuilding and I've been so excited to bring it to life.
> 
> And not just for that! But because this is the first time in a _long_ time that we get the major players of the BB plot in one room, so to speak, and a _lot_ of drama ensues. Tie that in with the fact that I get to bring in concepts introduced in book 3 (and not just concepts... oho) and more, I think I can confidently say Prague is gonna be a wild ride for everyone involved.
> 
> As always thank you _so much_ for reading and sticking with the story! Comments and critique are more than welcome! I'll see you guys next week for us to gear up and get ready to get our _prestige_ on. Do I sound like an early 2010s ff-dot-net A/N? Absolutely. Am I even mad about it? Not one bit. I am EXCITED!


	8. The Advantages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which something is a liability one moment and an advantage the next. Or, alternatively, the group debates the pros and cons of stealing Dracula's spotlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warnings** : language

The moment Serafine returns Adrian is immediately across the room and upon her with relief.  


Jax isn’t even subtle as he rolls his eyes. Not at them, per se, but Adrian _has_ nearly been wearing a trench into the hotel carpeting.

“What’s the worst he was going to do to her,” he scoffs under his breath, “give her a bad makeover?”

If the couple hear him they choose to let it go. Nadya, however, makes it a point to smack his leg — even if it does nothing.

 _“Are_ you okay?” asks Nadya. Serafine’s nod makes her smile and share in the relief.

“Wonderful. Then perhaps you can enlighten us as to exactly what the hell is going on.”

Kamilah doesn’t share the physical signs of Adrian’s worry but it’s definitely there. She cares for one of her oldest surviving friends even if she won’t show it in more than a gleam in her eyes.

No, she’s far more concerned with the whole reason they had to rush back here in the first place.

And just like that the tension’s back.

“Nadya and Jax have told you then,” Serafine immediately takes up one of the bottles of wine and pours herself a liberal glass, “about Vlad’s preparations for the _bal masqué?”_

Nadya shrugs. “We tried?” But it had been a little difficult on account of them not really knowing… what that was, and everything.

“In truth I hoped they had been given the wrong impression.”

The doubt in Kamilah’s tone makes Serafine snort. “If only we were so lucky. No, Tepes indeed continues with his plans to host this year’s event. Judging by what more he showed me beyond the extent of the entrance hall, this ball will be the grandest of them. He’s spared no expense.”

“And invited the entire vampire population of Europe, no doubt.”

“Those who will brave the circumstances to show themselves should arrive —”

“— I cannot imagine anyone prestigious enough to even _hear_ about it wouldn’t risk everything for the rewards —”

“— by the full moon,” Serafine continues despite the interruption; the words clipped and _angry_ on her tongue. “Which will be here in mere days. Which means we have very little time to prepare you all, let alone deal with how to _present_ you.”

Why had some part of Nadya tried to convince herself that wasn’t going to be brought up? Maybe because of Jax’s continued disbelief and the fact he’d spent the last three hours they had been awaiting her return forgetting (very audibly) that little tidbit? The world may never know.

Lily tugs her attention away from the room’s TV set. Despite all her efforts the Czech news hadn’t been as easy to decipher as it had been in France.

“Not that I don’t think this is _very_ diverging questline of us — and I’m into that if it involves fancy parties and Dracula in the same sentence — but is anyone gonna explain _why_ we have to go to some party to begin with?”

“Especially knowing now we’re gonna have to avoid a shit ton more vampires,” mumbles Jax through gritted teeth. “Wasn’t the point of all this to stay under the radar?”

“At first, yes. However…”

As she folds her hands over her middle, Serafine looks far more calm than she had when they were fleeing Vlad’s place in the dead of night. At this point Nadya doesn’t know whether that’s a good thing or a bad one — it keeps happening too much for her to keep track.

She steadies herself before continuing. “We have been presented with a unique opportunity to play Gaius’ long game. One that I think — should things continue to align as they have — we have a chance of winning.”

“And that game would be?” Kamilah inquires. Though judging by the clipped tone of her words she knows exactly what Serafine is going to say before she even opens her mouth.

 _“Les Visages de la Gloire._ Otherwise known as the Faces of Fame.”

“Serafine…” Kamilah dips her head as she sighs the woman’s name. 

She pinches the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger like that will somehow ease the tension suddenly rolling off of her in waves.

When it doesn’t Nadya tries her hand at it. Quite literally placing a hand somewhere upwards of the middle of her back. Everything about her is tightly wound and building in the few gaps left behind.

Kamilah doesn’t shrug her off, so that’s something. She leaves her hand to hover there for as long as the woman will allow.

All around them, the air seems to shift and hang around them heavier than it did before. Stale, almost — it reminds Nadya of the air below in the crypts and how hard it had been to breathe amid all that dust and ash.

“It was a different world back then, you must understand,” Serafine explains, “while our kind may have congregated in the City for shelter and survival, it could not be forgotten that we were once human, and our human lives wielded great influence on our interactions with one another.

“Every society has some form of hierarchy. We had no money to disperse, no divine ruling among ourselves that was not immediately tied to Gaius as our King. One’s worth in our culture became dependent on a few crucial factors. From how long you lived, to the deeds which defined you, to the Maker whose blood coursed through your veins.

“A handful of these _factors,_ for lack of a better word, became what is known as _prestige._ It was a kind of social currency that established order in a world of chaos.”

Kamilah scoffs at her choice of words. “It served as a form of control that favored the oldest and the most powerful of our kind.”

“Like yourself?” asks Jax, eyebrow arched.

Kamilah snaps her glare directly at him, but her anger rings hollow. “Yes, and for those of us descended from Gaius directly more than any other. We were not _people,_ but _titles._ Everything we were reduced to a single word that, when spoken, revealed your entire history to the one speaking it. It laid you bare and exposed… all your deeds known from rumors alone.

“Your reputation was not your own. It could not be changed… no matter how hard you tried.”

Her words trail off uncharacteristically melancholic. She almost looks to Nadya sitting beside her before she thinks better of it; casting her look of shame at her feet instead.

Nadya inhales shakily. Steeling herself, she drags her fingertips along Kamilah’s side down to rest on her knee. This touch is immediately different from the one before it. This touch Kamilah can _see._ Can _stop,_ if she wants.

The woman goes rigid underneath it. The act makes Nadya want to recoil, for both of their sakes, but she swallows that fear down and persists.

 _Also_ for both of their sakes.

Slowly, tentatively, Kamilah surprises them both by covering it with her own. It’s a small act — but it speaks volumes.

When it’s clear Kamilah can’t — or won’t — continue, Serafine resumes the mantle.

“The concept of _prestige_ never fully made it across to the New World with Gaius and his court. When he _disappeared—”_ a word she says with the utmost skepticism, “—it all but fell out of practice. 

“Vlad’s attempts to revive the idea have been met with little success. Largely, and to put it as bluntly as possible, due to the high turnover rate among our kind here. But given everything that has happened, it would be fatalistically foolish for us to call this a _coincidence.”_

Nadya’s starting to forget the meaning of the word; given how often it seems to happen to them and, on top of that, how often it ends up being everything but.

“So this party is, what, just a fancy recruiting tactic?” Jax blows his dark fringe out of his eyes, voice dripping in sarcasm.

Cadence, however, seems doubtful. “Surely it can’t be _that easy._ Especially not when the idea hasn’t been used in over a century.”

“It may seem like fickle vanity, but _prestige_ could once dictate life and death,” argues Kamilah, “and while it could be gained and lost in others, for him it was absolute. We must assume that still holds true.

“Gaius took power in America by creating an absence of it.” Kamilah’s fingers curl around Nadya’s hand as she says it. “But because there is no such establishment here, the easiest way for him to earn loyalty would be to resurrect that which was already there. The western world was built on the foundations _he_ laid. Even the youngest vampire in attendance will know of the King and his deeds.”

“The ones he wants them to know, anyway.” Adrian shifts from one leg to the other with a scowl deep-set on his face.

He’s been quiet for most of the conversation, and Nadya can’t help but wonder if this whole idea of _prestige_ was around when he was still at Gaius’ side.

Her mind conjures up — against her better judgment, too — the memory of his they’d shared in the library. Adrian and Gaius and Kamilah too; all at some party in a fancy house and the humid night air clinging to their old-timey clothes. 

_The Butcher of Antietam,_ Gaius had christened him.

It’s a thought Nadya forces away before she can recall the shining pride that had lingered in Adrian’s eyes. Or… at least she tries.

“You know, all I’m hearing are reasons _not_ to attend this thing,” and admittedly Cadence has a very good point there, “yet when they returned, Jax and Nadya made it seem like you were insistent.”

A muscle tics in Serafine’s clenched jaw. “Because I am, and because we will be. There is still the matter of extracting what Vlad knows about the Eternal Tree’s location, certainly, but I believe there is the possibility for more. If we play our cards right and utilize the _prestige_ among us… we may have been given an opportunity here. One that Gaius won’t see coming.”

For someone who was just explaining how all of this might get them killed one way or another, she shouldn’t look _nearly_ so excited.

She turns that bright look onto Kamilah, who in turn seems to take stock of them like they’re more of an arsenal than a group of people. Narrowed eyes calculating much in the same way she looks at her work reports; that keen sense of putting everything together that Nadya’s sure only comes with literal centuries of experience.

“Even among the four of us, Vlad’s influence on the communities here can’t be ignored.”

Jax scoffs at the word. “How can they possibly take him seriously?”

“His roots in the Church of the First run deep enough,” answers Serafine. She lets her words trail off with pursed lips…

And finally settles the brunt of her focus on Nadya. Who really can’t be blamed for how she tenses in her chair.

“Given recent revelations, however, the same could be said for ours.”

Maybe it’s some underlying psychic thing — or maybe she’s just finally starting to catch up with everyone else when it comes to everything happening around them. That’s not really the important thing right now. Nope, not one bit.

 _That_ label is reserved for the fact she knows, somehow, exactly what Serafine is thinking.

And _boy_ does she wish she was still a few paces behind right now.

“There’s not a makeover in the entire world strong enough to pass _me_ off as the First Vampire.”

Just saying it makes her pulse race. Kamilah pulls both of Nadya’s hands into her lap and covers them with her own. Protecting her like a small bird outside of its cage.

“I doubt that was her intention, Nadya,” she tries to reassure the human, but it would be a lot more convincing if she sounded like she believed it at all herself, “right, Serafine?”

“Actually that was exactly what I had in mind.”

Lily snorts, but her total skepticism is warranted as the best friend. There’s no reason for Jax to look equally doubtful and amused by the prospect, yet he doesn’t bother trying to hide it.

Were Adrian a less elegant man he might try to clean his ears out with his pinkies or something. 

As it is he gives a wide step backwards as though seeing her better will change his hearing. “I don’t… think I heard you quite right.”

“You did, _mon amour.”_ She offers him a sympathetic smile. “And I understand your reservations — _all_ of your reservations. But I would implore you see it my way, even for a moment.”

Kamilah’s hands tighten around Nadya’s suddenly. Borderline painful; like she’s at risk of being stolen away instead of just… sitting there beside her.

“There is no need. We’ve agreed not to entertain Gaius’ madness already.”

“That was decided before we knew we had this kind of opportunity.”

“There is no _opportunity.”_

“Kamilah, darling, that is not something for _you_ to decide.”

“There will be no _decision.”_

Each time they get louder and louder, one speaking over the other and that one returning the favor. With the entire room between them it’s going to get uglier before it gets better, too.

Nadya does the first thing she thinks of.

She yanks her hands free and leaves Kamilah holding a big heap of nothing.

It works, even if it hurts to see it. The way Kamilah’s face falls as she wrenches her eyes from Serafine in anger — frustration bleeding out from her until all that’s left is stubborn conviction and a twinge of disbelief.

The vampire opens her mouth to question her. Nadya beats her to it.

“I know what you’re doing,” and she does; she needs Kamilah to know that she does, “and I know why you’re doing it, and… it means more to me than I can even begin to say.

“But I want to hear her out, okay?”

Kamilah slowly closes her mouth; her face remains expressionless. Nadya would rather her be angry than show nothing at all.

So she tries again. _“Okay?”_ Insistently, on the cusp of desperation.

A long moment stretches out further, and further… and further…

Until Kamilah finally nods.

“Very well.”

At least Serafine doesn’t look _excited_ at the prospect. That would be just a little too far, even for Nadya’s brand of quasi-optimism.

Her and Kamilah find each other’s hands again, and Nadya gives the woman a nod to continue.

“I know Vlad and he has never been able to resist a pretty thing. He might have thought himself sly for ignoring Nadya’s very existence but he could not have been more transparent in doing so.”

“He knows about the whole _Rheya_ thing, then.”

Serafine nods. “I believe so, yes. And for the same reasons that ensured the hunt for you would stay discreet, I believe he has similar orders to keep you out of the spotlight.

“Aren’t you curious as to why that is?”

 _No,_ Nadya thinks, and she’s really not interested in the slightest. She never is, yet she’s somehow always learning anyway.

“Thousands of years wandering the earth, securing his kingdom and court, building his power and rule until it was absolute. Yet he sought to give the masses something to believe in; a martyr for his cause.”

Kamilah’s eyebrows raise as a soft _“oh”_ of understanding passes like a whisper on her lips.

She squeezes Nadya’s hands close to bruising. Even then, though, she refuses to be let go. Who knows what will become of her if she is.

“Spreading the worship of Rheya ensured loyalty to him, but created _devotion_ for Her.” She closes her eyes as she says it — chest heavy with a weight Nadya can’t see and still doesn’t quite understand.

Serafine raises her hands palms-up; weighing their options on a scale of her own design.

“Weigh a King against his deeds,” she raises her left hand and lets the right drop slowly, “and his power justifies much. But weigh that same King against a Goddess…”

The left goes down. Serafine’s right hand brushes a stray curl near the crown of her head.

“He’s designed his own undoing, and he knows it. All we have to do is convince the masses of what Gaius already believes and the faith he has so carefully designed around the idea of Her will do the rest.”

She has a pair of sore hands that tell her everything she needs to know about what Kamilah’s take on that plan is. But the others have been oddly silent — not that she can blame them.

As Nadya looks around the room though, her friends become harder and harder to read. Or maybe the longer she tries to decipher which side of the debate they might be on, the more her brain says _don’t, you don’t want to know, it’s better you never know._

Since, you know, regardless of who votes yes and who votes no, they’re just about out of options, huh?

“It’s your life, Nadya.”

She snaps her head back to Adrian so fast it nearly gives her whiplash.

Every word makes his heart hang heavier in his chest. “True or otherwise, the only one who will be affected by this is you. The target will be on _your_ back. The decision should be yours.”

He’s uncrossed his arms and slid his hands in his jeans front pockets. Nadya doesn’t know why it matters — in fact she’s certain her brain has retired for the day because it doesn’t, it _shouldn’t_ — until it does.

He looks more open this way; more honest. More like _her_ Adrian. The one who had given her a choice to stay in this world or not and promised to protect her through it. Whether he’s doing it consciously or not Nadya doesn’t know…

But it’s kinda the sign she didn’t know she needed.

“I’m in.”

As if it was ever in doubt.

* * *

_Several Days Later..._

There was a time, back when she was still new to all of this and new facts were being thrown at her left and right and in sneak attacks from above, that Nadya would have _killed_ for the chance to just _sit down_ and _take a class_ on it all.

As it was there were more than several instances on the tip of her tongue where Adrian would give her strange, wry little looks when he caught her work calendar covered in various sticky notes covered in fun little factoids.

Not because he disapproved, but because he had gotten so used to a life of _‘and here is the next wild thing you’ve never heard of but will suddenly make your life ten times more difficult, just go with it.’_

But now that she’s actually being given the lecture-notes version of what essentially boils down to a thousand years of European vampire politics and social etiquette?

Well… let’s just say the third time Kamilah lets her sentence die into silence until Nadya’s attention wanders away from the window isn’t as understandable as the first or the second.

“Am I _boring you,_ Nadya?”

The distaste on the tip of her tongue jerks Nadya back to attention. Makes her jump in her chair almost violently and she’s convinced banging her knee against the underside of the thick wooden table in their shared hotel room is the universe enacting her punishment.

“Ow…” she mumbles, rubbing it hastily. She’s definitely not getting any sympathy from the face across from her that’s for sure.

“Sorry, Kamilah.”

The woman’s jaw tenses. Whatever she _almost_ says, she thinks better of it and changes her mind at the last minute.

“This is not for _my_ benefit, but rather your survival. One would think that’s something of importance to you.”

And _wow, way to slather on the guilt there sweetheart._

It makes her shoulders slump and has Nadya retreating into the ugly patterned upholstery of her armchair in shame. “It is Kamilah, you know that.”

“Not by the evidence of my eyes.”

Which — that has Nadya taking all the effort in her bones to keep from rolling _her_ eyes.

“No offense,” _which is what everyone says when they are about to say something potentially offensive, and know it to be so, but feel the compulsory need to say it anyway,_ “but this is all stuff you — _vampires_ — have decades to learn. At the _least._

“You’re talking to the girl who accidentally used the wrong _soup spoon_ at the Tech-Expo charity dinner and ended up in a _newsletter_ for it.”

Kamilah’s eyebrow climbs up slowly.

“Your point?”

“Just that you might be over-estimating what I’m capable of, that’s all.”

 _Which… she wouldn’t be the first person to do so even just this month._ But the fact that it’s Kamilah is a different kind of wound.

There’s a long pause… then Nadya’s breath catches right in her throat as she watches the woman seem to _melt_ before her. No, that’s not quite right…

 _Crumple,_ maybe. Though she’s loathe to put the word in any thought that shares Kamilah’s name.

But her shoulders sag from their usual rigid posture, her head tilting back and eyes fluttering closed for a long moment. She looks as beautiful as ever, that was never in doubt, but it can’t be denied that she’s different like this.

 _Older, maybe._ If such a thing were possible.

_Older and more weary._

But it’s not a weakness she indulges in long. There isn’t one she ever does unless Nadya can be counted among them. In the space of a few rapid blinks the Kamilah she knows — forged armor and all — is back like she never went anywhere at all.

“I know that is not the case,” she insists. “And moreover I know that _you_ know that is not the case. But to send you into the fray unarmed and unprotected is something I cannot do.

“Not with the risks as dire as they are.”

Nadya shifts in her chair. “You guys know how to find the Eternal Tree now. You don’t really need me.” _Jax is more than happy to torture the information out of Vlad if that’s what it takes._

Cool and familiar fingers come to rest on the back of her hand. Nadya looks up and finds herself held captive by Kamilah’s gaze. By the intensity of it; the _conviction._

“You know full well that your value extends beyond what your powers as the Bloodkeeper grant you.”

 _Do I?_ Nadya keeps her mouth shut in fear of saying the wrong thing; something that can’t be taken back.

_And that, guys gals and nonbinary pals, is character development._

“And if by some shred of self-doubt you find yourself thinking otherwise…” Her words trail off for a moment. Nadya watches Kamilah’s focus narrow down to nothing but their hands — to the gentle way her thumb coaxes Nadya’s palm turning upwards and the almost _instinctual_ thread of their fingers in the quiet.

“I should hope that, given everything, you may find certainty that _I_ see more value in you than solely by those things.”

Her heart races so fast in her chest that Nadya almost misses Kamilah’s confession — because that’s _definitely_ a confession. In Kamilah-ese, anyway.

Not for the first time Nadya’s finding herself consciously aware of Kamilah almost _going out of her way_ to say such things since they’ve reunited. Part of her yearns to ask _why, what brought it on, how long will it last?_

Thankfully the rest of her knows full-well that might break the spell of it. And that sometimes it’s better to just go with the flow than question every intention.

They fall into a strange absence of noise. Not quiet or silence; there’s this feeling on the tips of their tongues that they _could_ talk if they had anything to say.

But they don’t.

Not until Nadya finds herself tracing the lines on Kamilah’s palm with a feather-light touch. If she didn’t know better she might even swear the woman’s skin shudders with hints of goosebumps.

“I can control it better, now.”

Kamilah is kind enough to feign ignorance. It’s just hard to tell which of them the kindness is for.

“What would that be?”

“You know exactly what.”

With her free hand Nadya pushes up her glasses. The light from the street lamp outside catches on the lenses and makes her squint. Not enough to miss the way Kamilah’s face falls though.

“I made Serafine push me to learn as quickly as I could,” she continues, “when we were developing my Bloodkeeper side in Paris, I mean. I knew I had to get better at controlling the whole thing, top to bottom.”

“You should have made your primary focus —”

“My _primary focus,_ Kamilah, was making sure I could never hurt you like I did ever again. Because the next time I saw you I wanted you to know your secrets were safe.

“I wanted you to know you were the only one who could share those parts of yourself. It’s your past and you deserve to tell me about it in your own time.”

Nadya wants nothing more than to reach out, practically throwing herself on the table with the width of it, and thumb away the crease in Kamilah’s furrowed brow.

Like everything else about her it’s perfect; even something that shouldn’t be perfect at all and it still is.

There’s a flash of white as Kamilah draws in part of her lower lip between her teeth. Seemingly mulling over a thousand different responses… ones she might have gone over dozens—hundreds—of times in her head already, and ones she could never have guessed to have until right now.

“Nadya… _thank you.”_

Two words ragged and sharp in her lungs and the next thing Nadya knows she’s out of her chair and somehow astride Kamilah’s lap across the table. 

Her body flushes bright and warm at such a cool touch but it’s not from arousal — at least not primarily, anyway.

It’s a warmth concentrated in her heart. Held in her hands as she cups Kamilah’s cheeks and brings her cool forehead to rest on Nadya’s bare shoulder. Reaching out from her fingertips to where she cradles the smooth back of the woman’s head while they take the chance to just… _breathe._

_Always, Kamilah. Always._

“I’ve got you.”

Nadya had forgotten how much she _ached_ to feel that familiar upturn of soft lips against her skin. She wants to pull back — to see that smile with her own eyes — but it’s a sacrifice she’ll make for the greater good of _them_ for the moment.

“I would not ask you to forgive me for how I acted. I can scarcely forgive myself.”

And aren’t those words just a big ol’ hand squeezing around Nadya’s heart.

“But that you might offer me a second chance regardless has been… a great source of strength for me in these past months.”

_Why me?_

_How could you possibly ask that?_

She doesn’t want to rush Kamilah — not until she’s ready. Only pulling back when the vampiress is the one to move first.

The tips of their noses brush with barely enough air for one person to breathe between them. _That’s a good thing,_ Nadya supposes, and she takes it all greedy between her teeth.

“You do not ask me to be anything more than I am.”

The back of her hand brushes like a cool breeze over Nadya’s cheek. Makes her close her eyes and let out all that air until she’s breathless and gasping from it.

“But I’ve come to understand you make me _want_ to be that; _more._ For a litany of impossible reasons I’ve still yet to fully fathom, Nadya, there is a way you look at me that seems to rouse a change in me.”

Kamilah holds her chin with thumb and forefinger — waits with the patience of ages until Nadya has the good sense to open her eyes.

“A good one, I hope.”

And doesn’t that smile she gets just say it all.

“Yes, Nadya. A good one.”

* * *

_On the Night of the Full Moon..._

“Strange to think all the reasons we kept them away in the first place are the same reasons we’re bringing them with now.”

Serafine looks up from her work on Nadya’s hair to meet her eyes through the vanity mirror. There’s probably something to be said about Nadya being routinely dressed up by people who could also use her bones for toothpicks but it’s not as if she has much of a choice tonight.

The only person Nadya knows how to dress up like is Nadya. Which is exactly who she’s _not_ supposed to be tonight.

 _“I may not know what the Goddess looked like in the flesh,”_ Serafine had said as she ushered Adrian out of their room and made swift work of pulling Nadya in, _“but I daresay I ought to know just how to get you noticed at the_ bal masqué. _My eye used to set the standard for them, if you remember.”_

She remembers. How could she forget — it’s not like the woman hasn’t brought it up at _least_ a dozen times since their final preparations began yesterday evening or anything.

A small smile curls the corners of Serafine’s mouth. It’s still so strange to see her without some form of coloring on them. _Later, petit, there is an order to which these things are done._

And _yeah…_ Nadya knows that. She’s just… apparently… been doing the whole thing in the _wrong_ order all these years. For anyone pretending to be an imposing reincarnation of the First Vampire and Goddess of Blood, anyway.

“You have a point there, that _is_ strange.” And just like that she’s got Nadya out of her own head and back to the present and all-too-looming future ahead.

“But _prestige_ is a strange thing, no? At its core it is one’s reputation.” Though if the way she barely resists rolling her eyes as she says it means anything, it’s physically hurting her to make the comparison and mean it sincerely. “And reputation can be good as easily as it can be bad — something our friends know better than most, would you not agree?”

 _Our friends,_ she says, like she isn’t among them. Without Serafine they probably wouldn’t even be attempting this.

Without her they may not have enough collective _prestige._

The rest of her work continues on without further words. Serafine hums a song seemingly without end; at least until she ruffles long fingers through Nadya’s hair in one final motion that sends the waves falling effortlessly over her shoulders to tickle at her bare back.

“Look in the mirror and tell me who you see.”

Easier said than done, especially when Nadya goes to reach for her glasses and finds them snatched from her immediate grasp instead. Contacts are wordlessly pressed into her outstretched hand. This isn’t something she has a say in.

Only when she’s finally blinked enough to settle them into place does Nadya get the chance to look at herself properly.

She just doesn’t know the answer Serafine expects.

“I see… me?” Which is both the truth and, the longer she finds herself looking, a little bit of a lie.

Certainly she’s never given that much attention to making sure her bone structure is so well defined; and the last time she can remember wearing this much of anything around her eyes was some long-gone Halloween ago.

“I feel like the ‘before and after’ in a teen trope flick.”

“I don’t quite understand your meaning.”

Nadya waves it off. “Eh, I’ll save that one for Lily. She’ll get it.” She’ll appreciate it, that is.

Serafine’s hands come to rest heavy on her bare shoulders. Careful not to mess up her hours of careful work; but no less intent in the press of her thumbs into the skin above her shoulder blades.

“This will be your _masque,_ Nadya,” the vampiress reminds her; as if it was even possible to forget _that_ little detail. “You must present yourself to them unveiled and above them in every possible way. For what are reputations and rumored acts to a Goddess?”

It takes her maybe a bit too long to realize that’s not a rhetorical question. Nadya swallows and hopes she can remember how to use her words in such a dry mouth.

“No—Nothing?”

Her curls rustle with her shaking head. “Wrong — they are _everything._ Because their acts are yours; everything done in their own names and in the pursuit of their own selfish glory is but an extension of your power.

“This, above all else, is something you _must_ convince yourself to believe before we arrive tonight; in the hopes that it will give you the strength you need to see this through.”

 _I’m gonna need a lot more than motivational speaking,_ she thinks fleetingly, but gives Serafine the nodded agreement she seeks because, as she comes to learn moments later, there’s no way she’s leaving that hotel room until she does.

When the door opens to set Nadya free, she’s surprised that Adrian isn’t lurking somewhere near the doorway, ready to resume his own preparations.

Probably for the best though. She’d like to have a fair bit more clothing on before she sees him next.

Not even one step towards her door on the opposite side of the hall and it opens unbidden.

She all but squeaks and makes to dash back into her own privacy and safety. Even though they were the only ones in the entire hotel, that didn’t mean she wanted to stand out in nothing but her underthings.

But the sight of Lily emerging with Kamilah behind her catches Nadya off guard.

She’s lucky Lily is still facing the inside of the hotel room and walking backwards as she takes her leave. Lucky only in that Nadya’s not entirely sure she would have been able to school the surprise from her face in enough time had Lily been looking right at her.

Kamilah holds the door open for her as she goes. The air around them hangs thick with a discomfort and something she can’t quite put her finger on. But whatever it is it makes the hairs on the back of Nadya’s neck prickle uncomfortably.

“Thanks again, Kamilah,” Lily mumbles with her head angled towards the floor, “I know I’m probably being stupid, but —”

“Enough of that.” Kamilah cuts her off sternly, but the look of empathy in her eyes is anything but.

Before Lily can get too far she reaches out and places a heavy hand on the young vampire’s shoulder. Squeezing it slightly in the only kind of comfort she knows how to offer.

“You and I are both well aware your concerns are more than justified. I wish I could offer you something more concrete, I truly do.”

Lily nods, voice thick and wet with unshed tears. “I just — you were the last one to see her, and I know you’ve been here, but…”

Her words trail off unspoken. But Kamilah has a good guess as to what she would have said anyway.

“In the short and tumultuous time we worked side-by-side, Miss Espinoza proved herself to be a rare thing indeed. In these troubling times it can be easy to sacrifice one’s moral code or principles should doing so mean victory… or at the very least less casualty than there might have been otherwise. There were even times when I felt the need to weigh the odds in such a manner.

“But she refused to allow herself to succumb to such things. And where any lesser person might have doomed us all by doing so, Maricruz proved herself to be the exception. Her quick thinking and unwavering confidence in her people certainly ensured as many could escape the city as possible.” And if for some reason Lily doesn’t take her at her word, there’s an undeniably rare kind of respect weighing them down.

Respect doesn’t come from people like Kamilah unless it’s earned — several times over.

“But her quick thinking and adaptability unfortunately means I can only guess at where she might be now, or what she might be doing to continue the fight. No doubt she’s changed tactics a myriad of times over since I took my leave from New York.”

Lily’s hasty nod betrays her silence. Hands clenched into shaking fists at her sides and her ragged breath out of emotional habit more than anything else; but she doesn’t know any other way to pry the painful feelings from where they weigh down her chest.

“I appreciate the honesty.”

Kamilah nods once. “I would not dishonor your concern with lies — regardless of the hope they might inspire.”

“No no, for sure.” She clears her throat. “Sorry for taking up your time.”

A wry, almost _amused_ look glitters in Kamilah’s soft gaze. Lily tilts her head to the side, but before she can ask Kamilah beats her to it.

“I just find myself wondering, between the pair of you and Nadya, which of you was prone to constant apologies first — and which of you enables the habit.”

Nadya’s heart melts for the pair of them.

“Trick question, we both enable each other.”

At the sound of her voice Lily turns around, wide-eyed and looking for a brief moment like she’s about to fumble out an excuse on the tip of her tongue. But Kamilah squeezes her shoulder again and the itch to cover up her sadness fades. The woman left behind is more than a little melancholy, but that’s better than if she were to bottle it up in Nadya’s opinion.

“Hey Nadi’.”

Rather than answer, Nadya crosses the width of the hall and pulls Lily into a tight hug instead. Faces buries tight into one another’s necks — concern for smearing Serafine’s hours of work are little more than an afterthought because Lily will _always_ take priority. Especially with all the unknowns she’s being forced to drag behind her.

 _“Lemme know if there’s anything I can do, okay?”_ She whispers, and Lily’s hug tightens in response.

_“Thanks. Will do.”_

With one last wave to the pair of them Lily ducks back into her own room one door down. They’ll see her again soon enough.

The moment is over, though. And Nadya is still mostly undressed.

_Eep!_

On her way inside Nadya almost collides bodily with Kamilah. Lucky for them both one of them has the good sense (the same one with the super-strength and super-speed, three guesses not needed) to catch them both by grabbing Nadya and keeping her from tumbling to the carpeted floor.Imagine her surprise when Kamilah’s laughter — soft though it may be — rings like a lullaby in her ear.

 _“Very dignified,_ for a Goddess.” She croons, and parts them just enough for Nadya to be very much aware of how Kamilah’s eyes roam up and down her shivering form.

“That’s me, the goddess for your everyday anxious mess.”

And while it’s more likely than not that Kamilah finds further amusement in her wry attempt at fluttering her eyelashes seductively, more than she does that failure of a self-deprecating joke anyway, Nadya chooses to let it go.

Some smiles (namely Kamilah’s in this particular instance) are too breathtaking to ignore.

If only they had more time to linger on it.

“Alrighty —” Nadya claps her hands and rubs them together as she heads towards the large cuts of fabric laid out on the bed for display, “— let’s get this show on the road.”

Kamilah comes up to stand behind her while she looks between the costumes curiously.

She recognizes the deep red one, large and in charge as it is, quite well. If she cared to give Kamilah’s dress an investigative level of detailed scrutiny she would notice subtle differences in the patterns of lace, hand-woven details in silky black thread over the bodice, and other patterns that make up the dress.

It’s not the exact gown from the Awakening Ball, meaning it isn’t the exact gown from the version of Kamilah she had seen attending one of these _bal masqués_ in her visions. But it’s damn close.

And let’s be real here — Kamilah will steal the show regardless.

But the off-white piece on the other side of the bed doesn’t immediately fit in. _Maybe it’s a train or something,_ Nadya thinks as she turns her head at different angles. Trying and failing to figure out how the large golden buckles and utterly contrary embroidery style match up to Kamilah’s dress without making her look like a seriously jacked-up Christmas _faux pas._

Because it _has_ to be a part of Kamilah’s dress.

If it’s not…

She groans, more like a whine, more like a strangled noise that starts up at the tip of her tongue and crawls down into her belly where it doesn’t sit well. To the point where Nadya actually wraps her arms around her middle as she continues to just… _take all that in._

One of Kamilah’s hands rests on her hip while the other thumbs the inside of her wrist to calm the gooseflesh erupting over Nadya’s body in waves.

“Given what we are claiming tonight, it seemed fitting to…” the woman purses her lips and mulls over the most delicate way to say it, _“reinforce_ the image as best we could.”

“I can guarantee you the dress Rheya wore in my vision covered a _lot more_ than this thing does.”

“Creative liberties, Nadya.”

“You’ll be _liberating_ something all right…” Any remaining sense of modesty she might possess, maybe.

_Great. Juuuust great._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you ready?
> 
> You're not ready.
> 
> As always, comments and critique are more than appreciated! See you next week!


	9. The Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the night of Vlad's masquerade ball, the most prestigious social event a vampire can attend. An entire ballroom full of faces and names every vampire in Europe knows... and apparently Nadya is going to upstage them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warnings** : language

A pretty big chunk of their plan relies on the staff of the Tepes Estate being just as snobbish and uppity as the man they serve.  


So thankfully at least something is both easily predictable and surprisingly convenient.

Staff all around, and none of them pay the pair of them much mind. Beyond the fact that they get told by more than one footman that _“guests really shouldn’t be back in the staff corridors”_ and receive multiple warnings about how _“the Count has ensured all guests for the evening,_ (said while looking down the biggest snooty nose in all of Prague no less) _no matter their prestige, will receive adequate time to sup on the serving staff,”_ and that they _“really shouldn’t be allowing an undisclosed human on the premises but will look the other way this time,”_ Nadya and Cadence are pretty much left to their own devices.

Which means scurrying out of sight before any lone particularly _loyal_ member of the Tepes household decides to go narc and everything ends up exploding in their faces anyway.

Because there’s no way on earth these full-face _masques_ of theirs are providing any damage cover should their plans go _KABOOM!_

Nadya casts another look up at Cadence as they come across their umpteenth fork in the road. Watching him decide between right or left is starting to feel as nerve-wracking as actually choosing which direction they ought to go. 

“You’re sure you know where we are?” _You’re sure you know we’re going the right way?_

“I’m starting to feel like you have less than zero faith in me, Nadya.” He probably thinks the glance down her way is a reassuring one. But the _masque_ over his face is almost _too_ neutral. It’s just a mask but it feels like it’s trying too hard, you know?

“That’s not it at all. This place is just…” _A lot._

He barely remembers to reach back and take her by the hand before he chooses left in a hurry. Who knows how much time they’ve wasted just trying to find their way through this seemingly endless castle.

“It takes me a moment to recall the map Serafine showed me before we left, but I’m… ninety percent sure I know exactly where we are.”

“And the other ten percent?”

“Is trying to keep an ear out for party noises. So if you’ll zip it, thank you.”

Admittedly Nadya would have a lot more faith in this plan if it wasn’t just the pair of them, proven stumbling disasters that they are, relying on the apparently flawless memory of a man who literally introduces himself as ‘the one with amnesia.’ She understands the rationale behind it, just as she _understands_ the rationale behind everybody else going through the front door like an entourage of normal party-goers. They have three prestigious faces and what Jax and Lily lack in clout they make up for in being practically invisible as nobodies to this upper echelon of attendees.

But shoving the two bigwigs of their gang — well, the most recognizable face in any room of vampires and the obviously human girl losing her freakin’ mind amid a cluster of the heartbeat-less undead — through the _staff entrance_ with nothing more than simple masks to disguise them _and_ trusting them not to mess up finding their way among the rest in time for some famed _big reveal_ they still don’t know the full-on details of…?

Well if they live through this long enough to chronicle this part of their journey, nobody is ever allowed to even so much as _imply via metaphor_ that Nadya never trusted her friends wholly and completely.

Actually if they’re talking about chronicling stuff, better they leave these more vague and improvised parts of their master quest to the footnotes. That way they can pretend they knew what they were doing the whole time.

For example Nadya isn’t gonna let anyone write down that she got so wrapped up in her thoughts about what may or may not get written down that she walked face-first into a brick wall.

_OW._

Not a brick wall, actually.

Cadence turns around and catches Nadya’s mask just before it falls and shatters on the ground. Thank you vampire super-speed.

“Are you okay?” He asks, wide-eyed and worried, hesitant to give her back her disguise to take stock of how she really looks.

That’s such a loaded question though, so Nadya ignores it and rubs the redness on her forehead instead.

“Why’d you stop?”

The vampire takes a moment to look up and down either end of the corridor and even around the next corner. When he’s satisfied they’re alone he pries his own mask off with a groan; practically peeling his flattened hair from where its been stuck to his forehead the moment he put the darn thing on.

“Because,” with pursed lips he blows his fringe out of his eyes, “I’ve been talking this entire time… and even when I ramble you usually have some two cents or other to pitch in.”

 _That’s fair._ Nadya takes back her mask with a sheepish shrug. “Sorry, got distracted.”

“That much is obvious. Care to share?”

“Not really. Care to keep going?” Not like they’re exactly full of free time, here.

He sweeps his arm in an _after you_ motion, but keeps pace with Nadya’s shorter stride. “I can hear the string quartet by now. We’re close, but they haven’t begun the announcements Serafine told me to wait for.” So maybe they have a _bit_ of free time. Got it.

Only now she can’t stop thinking about what will be on the other side of the big grand ballroom doors.

And Nadya without her set of note cards to at least _help_ her through her dumb speech all because her dumb dress has no dumb pockets.

“You know I still don’t get why they wouldn’t budge about you not being discovered.”

“You don’t see me complaining,” Cadence says with a shrug; and actually now that he points it out…

“No, I don’t.”

He doesn’t need to look at her to know exactly why she says it _that way,_ either. It’s not the first time they’ve had this talk. Probably won’t be the last either.

His sigh sags from his shoulders to his fingertips. “‘Surprise warmonger back from the dead’ might accidentally eclipse ‘reincarnation of the vampire Goddess.’ Can’t have that, now can we.”

“Cadence.”

“Nadya.”

They turn another corner in complete silence. Nadya’s ears strain to hear this quartet of his but nope, not close enough for her poor human ears quite yet.

Finally Cadence seems to decide on something. Gathering himself up all the way to his full height while fiddling with the porcelain in his grasp. “Actually… Serafine and Kamilah gave me the option. When they talked about _prestige_ all this week it was largely assuming I might be able to _pretend_ just enough to add to their collective fame. But they gave me the choice as to whether or not I wanted to try.”

“And you said no.”

“Of course I said no. I don’t envy you, Nadya. You have to do this regardless of whether or not you want to. But for the first time it feels like I’m not in that position, and I want to take full advantage of it.”

His face falls, voice going somber. “Surely you can see why.”

She can. She did, in the flesh, and while he’d been useful at the time she can still close her eyes and remember how easily Cynbel had threatened Jax, hurt Adrian and Serafine; how callous he’d been with her life even though she’d agreed with him at the time… Not to mention all the implied things that come with Serafine, always calm and cool and collected, losing her freakin’ marbles every time he ended up a part of the conversation.

He continues. “I don’t think I could have pretended to be him if my life depended on it. And if you think about it, your life _does_ depend on it in a way. I couldn’t risk you like that. Not after how kind you’ve been to me.”

Her fingers brush over his arm. Cadence either takes it the wrong way or chooses to give a purpose to something so small; he bends his elbow and lets her arm slide into his like a proper escort to a proper ball.

“A lot of people’s lives depend on me pretending to…” Nadya can’t quite say it though, so she swallows it down. “I just have _no idea_ what I’m supposed to do when we get there.”

“Understandably.”

“Seriously,” offering him a wry and dry smile, “that’s all the advice you’ve got?”

He mulls it over for a good and proper think. The effort is more than appreciated even if it doesn’t actually yield results. At least this way she gets to vent it out before messing up royally when the time comes.

Cadence stops first — their linked arms jerk her back and to turn and face him. “I wouldn’t call it advice, per se,” _gee—great,_ “but maybe we both suck at pretending because we ought to be accepting, instead. Accepting who we… were. Possibly, in your case. That way we still have the chance to move on.”

It’s a sweet sentiment, but Nadya can’t help the way her nose scrunches up slightly.

“I don’t think that applies to this case, Cade.”

“Fair enough. Can’t say I didn’t try.” And that makes the pair of them laugh, no matter how weakly. Something neither of them knew they needed, nor how badly they needed it.

It doesn’t last long… but it doesn’t need to.

“You’ll figure it out when the time comes Nadya. You usually do.”

_Usually._

In wordless agreement she and Cadence don their pretend _masques_ with mutual reluctance. At least he doesn’t have to breathe in his. But it’s easier this time to see what his face really says beneath that neutral doll-like expression.

She smiles at him in return. Like many things these days they can’t quite see it, but the feeling is there.

* * *

When they get close enough that Nadya’s ears no longer strain to catch the occasional tittering laughter or melodramatic voice, Cadence diverts them yet again. This time for a staircase he just so happens to catch sight of out of the corner of his eye.

He keeps her close; closer than before. Practically hovering over her like a shadow less than a step behind her the whole way up. She pauses when he pauses, she waits when he waits, and trusts him enough to know her faith isn’t misplaced but some explanation would be swell any time he’s feeling his usual chatty self.

Crouched close to the ground (which is a feat for him, for her not so much) Cadence crooks a finger at Nadya to join him in inching steps along the carpet towards the railing overlooking the main foyer below.

Nadya is, understandably, hesitant. “What if someone sees us?” _What if someone smells me, hears me, all-of-the-aboves me?_

“Same principle as before.”

“Keep close and your blood will cover me up?”

He nods. Not like she really has any other choice. Well, that and the more snatches of conversation she plucks from thin air the more curious she is.

And when has her curiosity ever _not_ won out?

Cadence’s cloak comes heavy around her other shoulder and all but smothers her. She grabs the edge and pulls it tight while making sure not to jostle it from his shoulders. For some reason she can’t shake the feeling like she’s hiding behind a curtain with her feet sticking out underneath.

But they’re here, so they might as well take advantage of it. So Nadya joins him in peering through the stone balusters to the hustle and bustle happening below.

The foyer had been beautiful already during her visit with Serafine and Jax the other night — Nadya would even go so far as to assume it was nearly completed. That assumption would have been vastly incorrect.

It’s not her contacts; she’s not seeing double. Every bauble and ribbon and glittering glassy gem brought along the entire family. There’s practically no surface without something shiny added in some form or another, and in many cases _that_ shiny thing has a shiny thing has a shiny thing of its own on top. 

On their own the decorations probably look gaudy and too-much. But when you fill the room with graceful vampires all dolled up in unique fashions and splendors everything else is lost in the background. Tasteful would probably have ended up the equivalent of a fifty-buck _Party Town Supply_ budget. So at least the Count knows his audience.

She should be looking for their friends… and she is. But Nadya tells herself it’s being a good and thorough secret agent to observe all the other guests along the way. Two birds and all that. But it’s not easy to just sweep her eyes over the assembled masses in search of a few key faces. Not when each _masque_ is a face all its own.

You’d think there are only so many combinations of colors, designs, and styles to make before they start getting repetitive. But that couldn’t be farther from the case. She gets it now, seeing everything and everyone from way up high and afar like this. The importance of not just the _masque_ itself, but having the _right kind of masque_ above everything else.

Masquerade balls are about hiding and blending in; being just another face in the crowd.

 _Les Visages de la Gloire_ is the exact opposite. And even _that_ feels like the most watered-down way to put it she can think of.

A gentle weight falls on Nadya’s back and she shudders a gasp. _When had she stopped breathing?_ Not for fear of being caught, but at the beauty of it all that could only be described as—literally—breathtaking. 

Faceless in their full face-coverings and headdresses each more ostentatious than the last; not important enough to show who they are but still in competition with each other — still with deeds to announce and reputations to uphold. Half-masks covering the left side, the right side, the top of one and the bottom of another and all of them made uniquely for a single soul and nobody else.  


Some vampires have _masques_ that match their costumes. Others clash in a way that can’t be anything other than on purpose. Even from a distance Nadya can see the difference between carefully crafted metalwork and porcelain painted with glossy lacquer; can compare wood carvings with rich varnish and contrast that with the vast rainbow of matte colors on terracotta. Most are adorned with embellishments and jewels heavy enough to make her neck hurt just by looking at them.

Nearly all take full advantage of the fact their wearers won’t end up suffocating on the other side.

 _And I’m supposed to show them all up without so much as a sheer ribbon over my eyes?_ Yeah, Nadya’s confidence takes a knife to the gut just thinking about it.

“Over there.”

Not like Cadence’s finger isn’t pointing down to a massive crowd or anything, but that’s exactly the point — forgive the pun.

Though they can’t quite see double doors leading inside the castle from the exterior from their hiding spot, the sudden hush that falls over the idle crowd offers up an equally dramatic entrance.

It’s the kind of arrival that would be filmed in slow-motion. The kind that pans up from the purposeful echo of each expensive step; dragging over the exquisite details of their costumes in one long smooth glide all the way to the big reveal. And what a reveal it is.

Kamilah’s spindly _masque_ may be made of steel but it curls over her sharp features with all the grace of a silken thread. It’s a face covering by only the thinnest margin of definition, with too many gaps in the framework to even _pretend_ to conceal her identity. But after taking in the rest of the crowd… it’s obvious she’s the kind of face — the kind of _presence_ — that simply can’t go unrecognized.

Everything about Kamilah, from her posture to her raised chin to her not-at-all-faked aura of superiority, _demands_ recognition.

On the surface she’s the woman that Nadya knows; that she trusts and cares about so so much. But look beneath, something all too easy to do — like sweeping aside a mist, it’s impossible to miss how she’s _so much more._

The Bloodqueen has arrived. And the entire foyer is speechless before her.

Without even moving a muscle the closest groups stagger back several more steps. Dozens of them nearly tripping over themselves and each other in their haste.

It’s no surprise that the space is quickly taken up by the two figures flanking Kamilah’s sides.

Serafine’s _masque_ isn’t so much a mask as it is a scrap of lace just wide enough to earn the collective approval. As if anyone here doesn’t already know who she is regardless. But that’s how she can pull the look off if Nadya is remembering her explanation right.

No one would dare partake in _Les Visages_ without knowing—without introduction—the woman who started it all.

Some final vestiges of their psychic connection tugs Nadya towards her; not physically so much as emotionally. Even without seeing Serafine’s features up close there’s a bittersweet ache in her chest that’s definitely not Nadya’s own.

The vampiress can offer up all the scarlet-lipped smiles she wishes. They are all hollow and fake. The simple act of being here causes Serafine nothing but distress.

And then there was Adrian.

Who, in comparison to Kamilah and Serafine, makes the women nearest him seem positively _giddy_ and _gleeful_ to be here tonight.

He wears his tailored costume perfectly; that wasn’t in doubt. It’s the _masque_ that leaves him stony-faced. Gold rich and dark that catches every little flame on the chandelier over his head that covers his eyes but can’t hide the tension wracking his jaw.

He and Kamilah both wear near-identical rich crimson garnets inlaid just beneath their _masque’s_ right eye. Shared stones for a shared Maker. But along _his_ edges are thin metal spires, short but wicked sharp, that vary from the same gold, to steel, to a coppery hue.

A second glance confirms Nadya’s suspicions; Adrian isn’t the only one with those kinds of embellishments along the edges of their _masques._ Scouring a few of them from the crowd, the way they carry themselves and mirror Adrian’s ramrod-straight posture answers a question she didn’t know she needed to ask.

If the garnet labels him and Kamilah both as Turned by Gaius, then the spikes are the mark of the soldier. Any soldier; but one worth recognition for their service.

Which is everything Adrian _doesn’t want._ Everything he had worried over, and was working now towards overcoming in the wake of his past.

Nadya ducks her head hastily to catch her tear before it falls. Thankfully she’s quick enough. If only she could wipe away the reason for it just as easily.

 _Pull yourself together, girl,_ she scolds, and it’s just enough to do the trick and pull Nadya’s focus back to everything around them. All the _stillness_ and _nothingness_ and the way a room full of the undead hold their collective unnecessary breath waiting for what will happen next.

Which is exactly the kind of attention-grabbing showstopper the three of them are supposed to be. All eyes turned on the _prestigious_ trio they are together, and away from Nadya and Cadence one floor above.

All focus on _who_ they are, _why_ they’ve come, _what_ they will do; and away from the practically invisible dynamic duo that slips through the crowd towards the closed ballroom doors.

Behind her, Cadence lets out an impressed little _“hah”_ when he finally manages to pick Lily and Jax out of the crowd. “I completely missed them. Did you see them sneak in?”

“No,” answers Nadya, but that’s actually a good thing. That was the whole point.

Without a word Kamilah takes one step forward. Her aura of command acts like an invisible shield that parts the rest; holding them at a respectable distance.

But the sudden shifting of the mass of faces and their _masques_ gets dangerous when it turns right in their direction. If even one wandering eye looks up, they’re done for!

Without a word the vampire pulls Nadya backwards, letting the force of his bulk pull them out of eyesight in the nick of time. _That was a little close, huh._

Nadya doesn’t get the chance to thank him though. 

The moment she opens her mouth a loud echoing _clang_ rings out below them, followed by the distinct shuffle of something heavy being dragged achingly close to the foyer’s marble floors.

Neither of them needs to risk sneaking a look.

Right on time. The ballroom doors have finally opened, allowing the first wave of _prestige_ to spill forth out to the grand dance floor.

And though the shuffling of boots and sharp _tapping_ of heels fills the vacuum of stunned silence as the attendees start to move, it’s not nearly enough noise to drown out the sudden and familiar exuberant laughter of delight that echoes across every polished surface below. The kind of laughter designed to be projected across adoring crowds; and carefully rehearsed to _always_ seem full of intriguing promise.

What Nadya wouldn’t give to borrow a little of Vlad Tepes’ seemingly endless confidence for her own performance… looming ever-closer and starting to pick up real steam. 

_“Remember my lovelies! Faceless and no-names, see yourselves inside. New blood and the lucky virginal attendees right beside them!”_

Her full-body shiver of discomfort is more than warranted. But Nadya only wishes she could be surprised at his… _unsettling_ word choice.

“I’m suddenly _very_ glad to be up here.”

She snorts at the wide-eyed stare looking out from Cadence’s mask. “You and me both.”

 _“Yes yes darling, oh you look a treat. And you there — you_ must _tell me the story behind that engraving later, you simply must.”_ It’s really to their luck and benefit that the Count likes hearing himself talk so much. They can stay far away from the railing and still keep tabs on what gauge of prestige is next to be welcomed into the _bal masqué_ proper.

They just have to wait until everyone—Vlad included—is inside. Everyone but the most _prestigious_ of the lot of them. And when all eyes are (once again) on the Bloodqueen herself… they’ll have no choice but to witness Nadya’s arrival.

Having Kamilah by her side might just give her the kick in the metaphorical pants to do this thing. Not the literal though. There’s no way this practically bleach-white linen getup will survive a boot print, and especially not to the rear end.

Down below there’s a momentary lull; all but shattered by Vlad’s returning laughter now pitched higher than before.

 _“Why_ there you are, _Serafine! Here I worried I had somehow lost track of your arrival in the excitement.”_

His words are followed by two unmistakably _wet_ noises; which Nadya prays are just over-dramatic kisses to her cheeks.

 _“Surely you jest,”_ she teases good-naturedly; said with all the humor of someone whose smile can’t possibly reach her eyes, _“I see before me you follow the old traditions quite well. Showing the_ prestigious _their due, their arrival witnessed by all who look to them in admiration.”_

_“Well of course! It makes for the grandest of entrances.”_

_“Ah, yes,”_ the elder vampiress croons, _“and as the illustrious host yours would be the last, non?”_

_“Don’t worry darling — I would never claim credit for your centuries of contribution to our dwindling community.”_

_“Meaning?”_

Somehow Nadya just _knows_ Vlad throws his hair back unnecessarily as he laughs again.

_“You can enter just before me, of course.”_

_“Then when, may I ask, might you suggest my blood-kin Adrian and I make our entrance known, old friend?”_

Unlike Serafine, who at least pretends to smile while enduring the torture of his conversation, Kamilah’s question is cold and clipped. It rings with all the disinterest of the Kamilah that Nadya had met so long ago — and she’d place good money on the single raised eyebrow hiked high enough to be seen over her _masque,_ too.

But if anyone could render Vlad speechless…

Nadya struggles to hear something, _anything,_ until she catches the faint rustle of stiff and expensive fabric moving with haste. Vlad’s gesture of greeting, no doubt.

Just like she has no doubt that Kamilah and Adrian don’t humor him as long as Serafine has. It certainly explains the flustered, _hasty_ way his next words tumble from his tongue with practically no filter.

 _“All the best surprises are the ones that sweep one off his feet. My humble gathering of our kind—nay, our_ family _—from the nearest branch to the farthest root is made absolutely resplendent by the honor of your presence!_

“Your Majesty, mon cherie —” —a beat, his attention likely shifting to Adrian— _“— and_ Sergeant Adrian Raines, _just when I had resigned myself to an evening of only the old and antiquated in renown. Here you stand before me, as handsome as the day we first met.”_

Nadya quickly schools her bewildered expression — too long and it might get stuck that way. But _that_ is flirtation if she’s ever heard it. Not _good_ flirtation, but nevertheless.

 _“Vlad, as… lively… as ever.”_ Adrian just barely recovers, but now she’s dying to know what he had almost said instead. _“Hard to believe it’s been nearly seventy-five years since last we met. Time… flies so quickly.”_

 _“Oh pish posh,”_ replies the Count, _“you wouldn’t know it but for the calendars. My memory of those chiseled features of yours_ obviously _needed a refresh.”_

He’s barely finished speaking when he gasps, clapping his hands together delightedly. _“Speaking of memory! You’ll have to forgive my fright. As you all know surely, my recollection skills are of world-renown. Yet the sight of you all almost_ thrust _me spiraling into self-doubt._

 _“And not without good reason! As I could have sworn you — the_ both _of you, that is to say — had…_ cast aside _your former titles.”_

It’s just like before. Everything that pops into his head said without a filter all the way up until what he’s saying isn’t as vapid as it was at the start.

It must be so easy to write Vlad Tepes off at first glance. Just look at the public opinion of the guy. Nadya had, she’s humble enough to admit it. But the hard truth is that he _is Vlad Tepes;_ he _is Count Dracula._

But whether he’s all the things the myths and legends claim or not it can’t go ignored that he knows what he’s doing (even if it doesn’t seem like it). He knows how to play a crowd, how to stroke an ego. He’s a master of misdirection.

_Has nobody pitched a Vegas residency to this guy yet? Seriously?_

But if he thinks he’s going to out-wit someone like Kamilah he must have those leather pants on just a little too tight.

She doesn’t address his comment. Brushing it aside proves a much more important point.

_“Shall Adrian and I wait patiently here while you and Serafine follow through, then?”_

Vlad must be used to playing the _‘host with the most’_ card, because he hesitates. But Kamilah wasn’t asking — she was just being polite.

 _“Yes,”_ he finally agrees, though surprisingly less strained than Nadya would have expected. _“I would not dare nor dream of presuming your prestige. Nor would I separate the grand entrance of the progeny of our King._

_“The three of you will have a most celebratory announcement, I give you my word.”_

Did she hear that right?

Serafine offers a gentle tittering laugh. _“I see no reason why you and I should not enter together,_ ma puce.”

_“We shall.”_

Vlad’s words die to the sound of heavy heels across the foyer floor. Too many steps to be one of her friends; but certainly more than enough for them to bring a person across the length of the room to where they are gathered.

Of course something is going wrong. They should have anticipated something going wrong. _They had,_ her brain reminds her, and probably thinks its being helpful by doing so.

She dares to inch _just close enough_ to catch a glimpse down below and _spoiler alert — it isn’t helpful at all._

With his head held high, Marc Antony makes a bold statement in taking Kamilah’s hand without it being offered. Then he goes a step further with a half-bow and a kiss pressed to the back — or the ghost of one. He barely manages it before she yanks it from his grasp — in surprise, in anger, that’s not the part that matters.

With everyone fixated on the two oldest vampires in the room, Adrian dares to steal a glance of warning up to the railing. Wide-eyed and with pursed lips, the message when he gives the tiniest shake of his head is clear.

Nadya retreats, practically crab-walking backwards.

Cadence tries to help her sudden shaking panic with an arm over her shoulders. It’s the thought that counts. 

“What,” he asks worriedly, “who is it?”

“Antony,” Nadya exhales, and the man goes rigid beside her. “It’s Marc Antony.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to start off first by offering a big apology to you guys!! For those of you who don't follow my tumblr, last Saturday my cat had to have emergency surgery on his intestines. I won't go into the details but he's recovering amazingly. Only when you add that to the fact that I got really sick on Monday and spend Tues/Wed recovering while taking care of him... I couldn't manage to post Chapter 9 like I had promised. So I'm super sorry about that guys. Thanks to everyone who sent their well-wishes for my fuzzy boy though.
> 
> Second, _another_ apology for today's update coming so late in the day! Long day, was out of the house running errands that took way longer than they should have. But I managed it and hopefully that counts for something!
> 
> Some good news though -- the contents of this chapter ended up being way too long to post. So Chapter 10 is already ready and waiting to post next week, so we won't have any of those pesky not-posting-on-time problems.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this one. Creating the world around the _masques, prestige,_ and _Les Visages de la Gloire_ has been a labor of love since I first dabbled with the idea back in _Choice II._ It's come so far since then and I can't wait to take it even further! As always comments and critique would be amazing, thank you for reading, and I'll see you next Wednesday!


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